


From the very beginning

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Big Gay Love Story, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gay Parents, Growing Up Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, MathsGenius!Merlin, Merlin and Arthur have Babies, Musical!Merlin, Politician!arthur, Rimming, Same-Sex Marriage, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Surrogacy not MPreg, Virgin Arthur, Virgin Merlin, Weddings, basically a lot of love and a lot of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Arthur and Merlin grow up together. They're brothers, best friends; but when they're teenagers, that bond grows into something more. This story follows their coming-of-age experiences, sexual experimentation, maps the journey of their life together from school to university to work to marriage and kids, their fights, fall-outs, make-ups ... it's the story of an ordinary life, and an extraordinary, overwhelmingly powerful love.Also, there's so much sex you'll need tea breaks. Honestly. Go out and buy some biscuits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> About the Underage warning: Merlin and Arthur are teenagers when they start fooling around. It's all safe and consensual etc.

 

The thing about Merlin is, he’s always been there. Literally. His mum was Arthur’s parents’ housekeeper; she kept his dad going when his wife died giving birth to Arthur. When her own husband then got killed on a tour of duty in Iraq, Arthur’s dad moved her and her baby son Merlin into his house to live with them, and Merlin was gifted every privilege available to Arthur. Arthur was one at the time. 

 

Arthur remembers playing with Merlin in the nursery. Merlin was a sweet, shy, happy baby, and right from the start he followed Arthur everywhere. 

 

They were sent to kindergarten together, and although they made lots of friends, they were inseparable. They painted together, they played dress-up games together, and in the evenings they had their bath and bedtime story together, asking at the age of five to share a room decorated like a medieval castle (Arthur was the King and Merlin was his Manservant). Uther and Hunith would sometimes listen to their boys giggling late into the night telling each other stories and smiled at their unusually-formed but loving family.

 

When they got a little older they started noticing that they liked different things at school. Merlin liked maths and music and drama and Arthur liked history and geography and sports. At first this worried them both. But then they realised they could enjoy different things and still be best friends. They did their homework together and then Merlin would play Arthur the piano music he’d learnt and Arthur would tell Merlin all about the Vikings. Arthur’s sporty friends made fun of Merlin for being ‘girly’ but Arthur calmly told them that they were stupid and that if they wanted to be his friend they had to be nice to Merlin. Merlin’s drama friends were mainly girls and they all thought Arthur was Prince Charming. Merlin found it annoying that they were always trying to get his attention. Arthur didn’t really notice though. He just looked at Merlin and shrugged. Merlin was happy.

 

By the time they got to secondary school, Uther and Hunith suggested that they might want to have their own bedrooms now, but both boys were instantly horrified and Merlin cried and Arthur got cross that people had made Merlin cry and shouted at them. They stayed in the same room. That night Arthur climbed into Merlin’s bunk and held his hand. 

“We’re sort of brothers, you know. We belong together Merlin.” Merlin nodded seriously. 

“Brothers,” he agreed.

 

At fourteen all the boys and girls at school started to get silly about boys and girls and kissing. Luke, who was the class troublemaker, told them all a story about how he’d kissed a girl at his big brother’s sixteenth birthday party and then it was Game On. Everyone wanted a kiss. Arthur and Merlin talked about it when they got home from school. They were lying by the pond in the garden. 

“Well I think it’s weird,” Arthur said, wrinkling his nose at the thought. Merlin wrinkled up his nose too. 

“Why’s it weird?” he asked uncertainly.

“Who’d want to kiss someone they’d only just met!?” Arthur said, absolutely horrified. “I’m only going to kiss someone I really like. Like you.” Merlin looked at him curiously.

“Do you want to kiss me Arthur?” Arthur looked at him consideringly and then shrugged.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Why? Do you want to kiss me?” Merlin looked a bit constipated and then giggled.

“I don’t mind trying?” he said. Arthur sat up and crossed his legs.

“Sit in front of me,” he instructed bossily. Merlin - used to following Arthur’s orders, and never minding - shifted to sit in front of him. “Close your eyes,” Arthur commanded.

“Why?” Merlin said, giggling again. Arthur looked confused.

“Dunno, everyone says you close your eyes?” he muttered. Merlin snorted.

“Well _I’m_ keeping my eyes open. Brothers, remember? I know you, why wouldn’t I look at you?” Arthur nodded at Merlin’s reasoning, that made sense. Leaning forward and carefully watching Merlin’s ocean-blue eyes, he pressed his lips gently against Merlin’s and felt Merlin’s moist lips press back. Their kiss was soft and chaste. Arthur drew back and licked his lips. 

“So?” he said. 

“It was nice,” Merlin replied.

“Yes it was,” Arthur agreed.

 

After that Merlin and Arthur practiced kissing quite a lot. At first it was more of the gentle touching of lips variety, but after they’d been to a few parties and seen people using tongues and moving their faces about a lot, they started experimenting. It was Arthur who initiated it, of course. He climbed into Merlin’s bunk late one night and nudged him with his foot.

“Merlin,” he whispered, “Are you awake?” 

“Am now,” Merlin mumbled sleepily. “Whassup?” 

“I think we should try that tongue touching thing,” Arthur said decisively. Merlin’s eyes opened wider at that.

“Now!?” he said incredulously.

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, obviously now,” Arthur said imperiously, rolling over so that he was pressed up against Merlin. Merlin shifted closer too.

“‘Kay,” he agreed, moving his face until it was mere millimetres from Arthur’s. Arthur slid up a hand to cradle Merlin’s jaw and hold it in place whilst he leant in and softly licked his tongue over Merlin’s bottom lip. Merlin’s eyes flew open in shock and he grabbed Arthur’s pyjama shirt in surprise. 

“What!?” Arthur demanded, taken aback. Merlin didn’t have words to tell him. He felt a jolt of something in his lower belly, hot and insistent, and it had gone straight to his … _oh my god his penis was doing something funny_ … and he felt tight all of a sudden, and like his body was too small, and all he wanted was to be closer to Arthur. So he pushed his whole body into Arthur’s, his cock pressing firmly into Arthur’s leg, and then looking into Arthur’s eyes, he leant in and licked a slow stripe across Arthur’s lips too. Arthur closed his eyes and _moaned_. 

“Merlin,” he choked out.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered in response, shuddering with need. They looked at each other and moved at the same time. Clutching each other’s faces they began to slide their tongues together and rub their groins against each other until both of them had exploded with muffled shouts, and then they lay wet and trembling, holding each other close. Once their breathing had evened out Arthur drew back and kissed Merlin’s cheek.

“That was different,” Merlin said. A slow, wicked grin spread across Arthur’s face.

“Merlin. That was bloody BRILLIANT!” he exclaimed, making Merlin laugh into his pillow. “We have to do that again!” Merlin nodded and reached out to hold Arthur’s hand.

“Yes, Arthur. But not right now. Right now I am sleepy.” Arthur cradled Merlin against him and held him tight. A few minutes later a thought unsettled him.

“Meerliin,” he said slowly. Merlin opened an eye and _hmmed_ in response. “Merlin, how are we going to explain our ruined pyjamas and your sheets to your mum!?” Merlin’s eyes flew open again. 

“I think we’ll have to start doing our own laundry,” he said sadly. Arthur huffed but didn’t have a better idea. Merlin smirked and went to sleep.

 

It wasn’t that they wanted to keep what they were doing a secret _,_ exactly, they just didn’t feel the need to share their private moments together with other people. They also didn’t tell people about their new-found love of Doctor Who and playing scrabble together on Sunday nights and making dens in the woods at the weekends. It was just another Thing that they did together, another mutually-enjoyable activity to add to their already extensive list, and it seemed totally normal and ordinary and unexceptional to both of them, so they didn’t make a big deal out of it. 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The concept of Gay didn’t really work its way into their combined consciousness until they were fifteen. The boys at school had started making fun of the boys that were nerdy or shy by calling them _homos_ and _fags_ and Merlin and Arthur looked it up together after school and found out that it was a nasty term for men who liked other men. 

“Is that what we are then?” Merlin asked a little apprehensively. Arthur’s brow was furrowed. 

“It’s just a term Merlin. We are _We_. I don’t mind whatever _We_ are. I like Us. I like _you_.” Merlin smiled then, his big, face-splitting beam, and put his head on Arthur’s shoulder, sighing a little.

“I like you too,” he said, linking his fingers with Arthur’s. He spoke again a little while later. “I don’t even really think of you as a _boy_ , you know? Like, I don’t think of liking boys or girls, I just like _you_. Do you know what I mean?” 

“I know _exactly_ what you mean,” Arthur said reassuringly, pulling Merlin to lie on top of him. “I’ve known you my whole life, there’s nothing wrong with us.” Merlin felt safe. 

 

He mentioned it to Hunith a few weeks later anyway. 

“Mum?” he said, shelling beans whilst she chopped potatoes for supper. She turned to look at him quizzically. 

“Yes darling?” she replied. Merlin didn’t really know what to say next. He kept shelling beans. 

“Would you mind if I liked Arthur?” Hunith stopped chopping potatoes and turned to him with a frown on her face. 

“Of course you like Arthur, sweetheart?” she said looking confused. Merlin shook his head. 

“I mean LIKE Arthur, Mum. In a … kissing … sort of way?” Merlin was sure his face and ears had gone beet-red. He blushed far too easily. Hunith paused for a nano-second and then pulled him into a surprisingly fierce hug and kissed his head. 

“No I don’t mind at all, my precious boy,” she whispered softly, hugging him close. “Arthur’s family. Just you two make sure you’re good to each other.” Merlin sighed in relief and hugged her back, grinning awkwardly. 

“Thanks mum,” he said. “Will you maybe mention something to Uther?” Hunith snorted and swatted him with a towel.

“Wimps,” she said, “the pair of you. I know you’re hiding outside the door Arthur. Come in and help with supper why don’t you?” A shamefaced Arthur appeared around the door. 

“What needs chopping?” he mumbled, pinker than Merlin had ever seen him. Hunith gave him an enormous hug too, leaving Arthur pleased, if a little shellshocked. And standing with an onion.

 

For a while the kissing and rubbing together was enough, but it seemed to naturally progress into _Other_ things. It began with Arthur getting into Merlin’s bunk naked. Merlin turned around to feel nothing but skin against him and squawked loudly. Arthur couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Merlin stop being such a _girl_ ,” he teased, rubbing Merlin’s earlobe with his nose, “we played naked in the paddling pool loads of times when we were little.” Merlin put his hands over his eyes and seemed to be hyperventilating. Arthur decided to be worried instead of amused. “Um, is this not okay? Do you want me to leave? Or just to cover my modesty?” He felt Merlin squawk again, but sort of mixed with a muffled snort and he knew it would be Okay. “Merlin can you come out from behind your hands, please?” Merlin shook his head. Arthur moved closer to him and slid his hands underneath Merlin’s t-shirt. He slid it up until it bunched under his arms and then pressed his bare torso against Merlin’s, skin on skin. Merlin gasped and uncovered his eyes. “Does this feel nice, Merlin?” Arthur asked softly, stroking his chest, his arms, his face. Merlin nodded and gazed at Arthur. “Can I take your things off too?” Merlin’s ears went red, predictably, but he nodded again, and Arthur set about peeling his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt from his lean frame. Sitting back on his knees Arthur let his eyes rove across Merlin’s naked form and felt _hungry_. Merlin was looking at him nervously. 

“I know I’m skinny, sorry,” he said quickly, as though pre-empting a joke from Arthur, “not perfect like you”. It made Arthur’s heart hurt. 

“God, Merlin,” he whispered, stroking his fingers over Merlin’s narrow body, “every inch of you is perfect. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Merlin’s ears were definitely red now, but he was smiling, and responded physically and vocally to Arthur’s careful, feather-light explorations. He drank in the sight of Arthur too, glorious and strong, cock long and thick and straining proudly. Merlin’s own cock began to weep against his stomach. Arthur saw and licked his lips. “Can I taste you?” he asked a little shyly. Merlin wanted to cover his eyes again but did not want to make Arthur feel uncomfortable so he nodded and let his head fall back against the pillow. Arthur carefully pushed his legs apart and Merlin felt Arthur’s soft hair move down his body as he kissed and sucked a trail of kisses into his sensitive areas: his neck, his collarbone, his nipples, his stomach, the insides of his feet, knees, thighs, and then eventually - finally - wrapping those perfect red lips of his around Merlin’s cock, tongue lapping round the head, sucking at the pre-come beading at the top, moving down to the shaft until Merlin could feel the back of Arthur’s throat and the world was suddenly Arthur and his mouth and everything was soft and warm and Merlin felt like he might pass out from the sheer amazingness of Arthur’s lips and tongue and throat muscles and he felt like he was making too much noise, gasping and keening, and worried he might choke Arthur the way he couldn’t help his hips from bucking, and eventually the world disappeared into blinding white light as he came for what felt like hours, Arthur swallowing him down, lapping at him gently, keeping his now soft cock in his mouth until Merlin had blearily opened his eyes and returned to the world. He pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“How on earth did you know how to do that?” Merlin demanded. Arthur shrugged modestly, but looked pleased.

“I just did what my body wanted to do to you,” he said simply. “I think that’s the best thing that’s ever been inside my mouth,” he added. Merlin squawked again and this time put the whole pillow over his head. 

 

An hour later Merlin had given Arthur his first mind-blowing blowjob too. 

 

Two hours later they’d both experimented with putting their tongues and mouths in _Other_ places. Merlin couldn’t decide if he preferred blowjobs or being rimmed. His mind was refusing to function properly.

 

Arthur soon began to be curious about Sex. Sex Sex. Part of him wondered at the miracle that was the human body. Despite so many orgasms he and Merlin seemed to live in a constant state of sticky wetness and crusty clothes and bedsheets (neither unhappily), Arthur was still aware of his body wanting _more_. It wanted to be _inside_ Merlin’s body. The basic principles were easy enough to understand but Arthur was nothing if not thorough and so he did his research. And then ordered a lot of things online. To be delivered to Merlin. 

“You PRAT!” Merlin said crossly, walloping Arthur round the head and dumping a cardboard box full of X-rated commodities into his lap. “I can’t BELIEVE you used my name for all of this! What if mum had opened it! Clotpole!” 

“Clotpole isn’t a word, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur drawled lazily, pulling Merlin into his lap and then eagerly looking into the box. “I thought we could start experimenting? With, you know … stuff?” Merlin looked into the box dubiously. 

“Looks painful,” he said flatly. Arthur shook his head emphatically.

“I promise never to do anything that hurts,” he said seriously. Merlin’s face softened. 

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said, kissing Arthur deeply. 

“I just … I feel like I’m never close enough to you,” Arthur said quietly, holding Merlin close. “I want to be inside you Merlin.” Merlin clutched Arthur and pressed his face into Arthur’s neck, relishing the smell of him. 

“I want you to be inside me too,” he admitted hidden somewhere behind Arthur’s ear. Arthur just held him reassuringly, stroking his arms. “Are we going to use condoms?” Merlin asked, still hidden. He found that hiding was the only way he could deal with Arthur in their emotionally and physically exposing situations. He felt like a bit of an idiot doing it, but Arthur told him he was adorable, so that was okay then. 

“Do you want to?” Arthur returned, stroking Merlin’s hair. Merlin shifted in his lap, excruciatingly embarrassed but determined to have a Grown-Up conversation (his mum always said if you can’t talk about it you shouldn’t be doing it, and _boy did he want to be doing it_. He’d have to man up).

“No,” Merlin admitted. “I want it just to be you and me, like always. And I know it’s a stupid decision, but neither of us has done this before, or will be doing it with anyone else, so I think it’s safe. Right?” Merlin suddenly demanded, withdrawing from his Ears hiding spot to look Arthur directly in the eye, needing reassurance. Arthur looked bemused.

“It’s safe, Merlin,” Arthur assured him, “it’s only you.” Merlin relaxed. 

“Okay then,” he agreed. 

 

The first time Arthur entered Merlin, on his sixteenth birthday, they were camping outside, in the woods. They wanted privacy, away from the eyes and ears of their parents. Arthur had carefully erected the tent and filled it with rugs and pillows and Merlin thought that _he_ was adorable too, in his own annoyingly competent and over-achieving sort of way. 

“I’m not going to break, Arthur,” he exclaimed, exasperated as Arthur added yet another blanket to their nest. They’d spent the evening in front of the campfire toasting marshmallows and talking idly about different people at school, and the best Doctor Who, and about whether Star Trek or Star Wars was better; silly chatter that was normal and comforting for them both. Eventually Arthur put out the fire, and held out his hand to Merlin and led him into the tent, lit only by a dim electric lamp. It was cosy. Arthur laid Merlin in the clouds of softness he’d industriously put together earlier, and kissed him gently, stroked him, made sure he was comfortable and relaxed before he started undressing him. When they were both naked Arthur crawled between Merlin’s legs with a bottle of lube and bent his knees up and apart so that he had room to Work. He’d read all about the technique, he’d insisted that he and Merlin watch porn together so that neither was taken by surprise, but he was still worried; he’d heard that this could be incredibly painful, and he’d never forgive himself if he hurt Merlin. He slicked up his fingers and pressed a kiss to the inside of Merlin’s knee.

“Ready?” he asked quietly. Merlin put his hand into Arthur’s hair and nodded, exhaling his nerves softly. He trusted Arthur. Arthur began to slowly press a single finger inside, watching Merlin’s face the whole time. “How does it feel?” he asked. Merlin blinked slowly a couple of times.

“Just weird,” he replied honestly, hand still steady in Arthur’s hair. Arthur had a faint suspicion that he’d be losing a clump of it if he did anything to cause Merlin pain. Arthur added another finger and more lube, scissoring them as he’d read about. He curled his finger, trying to find Merlin’s prostate, and was eventually rewarded with a gasp and Merlin’s arched back and needy _Oh_ sound. Arthur smiled, feeling encouraged.

“How does it feel _now_?” he asked, a little smugly. Merlin lifted a leg to press his heel into Arthur’s back and arched his own back to push himself down further onto Arthur’s fingers. Arthur moaned at the sight. He bent down to tangle his tongue with Merlin’s, and suckled at his lover’s tongue greedily as he added a third finger. Merlin was unfazed. He kept his steady rocking, gasping every time Arthur brushed his prostate. After what felt like _hours,_ Merlin eventually tapped Arthur on the head.

“I think I’m ready,” he said, face flushed, and looking more beautiful and debauched than Arthur had ever seen him, “I think I’m used to it now.” Arthur nodded and covered himself in lube, before lightly pressing the tip of his penis to Merlin’s now slightly-loosened pink furl. He very, very, carefully started to push inside, wrapping Merlin’s legs around his waist, leaning in to kiss Merlin whilst he entered him. They’d agreed to do it face to face first time, even though they’d read it might be easier doggy-style, because they wanted the intimacy and the connection. Arthur was fully seated when he noticed tears in Merlin’s eyes. He panicked.

“Jesus! Merlin! Are you -” but Merlin shook his head and wrapped his arms and legs around Arthur even more tightly so he couldn’t move anywhere.

“I’m not hurting,” he said sounding broken, and like talking was an effort, “it’s just a bit … not too much … but overwhelming maybe? I feel so, raw, and it’s _you_ Arthur, and we’re …” the tears started rolling down his cheeks then. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept mumbling, eyes closed, hiding again. 

“Shhh, love, Merlin, love,” Arthur whispered carefully, nuzzling his face, “it’s okay, me too, I get it, it’s okay, I love you. Merlin? I love you.” Merlin opened his eyes to see Arthur looking at him with earnest, concerned, warm affection and he took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself down.

“Christ, I really _am_ a girl,” he muttered and felt Arthur giggle against him.

“Mate, I’m really, really, _really_ glad you’re not,” Arthur said. Merlin laughed. Arthur kissed him and started to move, slowly but firmly, in and out, in and out, brushing against Merlin’s prostate, again, and again, and again, and soon Merlin was hard and arching and moaning and Arthur had never experienced anything better than this in his whole life; a status quickly overthrown when Merlin came all over the roof of the tent, and then _he_ came inside Merlin. Merlin’s eyes were wide with shock the whole time Arthur’s seed was pumping into him. Eventually Arthur had pumped dry and he looked at Merlin nervously.

“Alright?” he enquired softly. Merlin nodded, eyes moist again.

“I love you too, Arthur.” 

 

A few weeks later, Merlin entered Arthur for the first time. Arthur didn’t cry but he did sleep with his limbs locked around Merlin like an octopus that night. 

 

It became common for them both to bear the marks of each other at all times, red love bites sucked into hidden places that no-one else could see.

 

Once they’d lost their virginities (of every kind) to each other they decided to call each other ‘boyfriend’ and not ‘brother’. Their parents were unruffled by this change in status. The girls at school all cried now that Arthur was off the market. Other than that, life continued as usual. Their box of toys was thoroughly christened.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

In no time at all it seemed that university applications were looming. This was something that Merlin and Arthur hadn’t discussed. They’d been together their whole lives; did they need to do something on their own now? Did they need some space from each other? 

“Do you want to go to the same or different universities?” Arthur eventually asked after a summer of mutually Not Talking about it in case they were on different pages, ripping the plaster in his forthright manner. Merlin looked at him carefully.

“I don’t feel like I need to do something on my ‘own’ if that’s what you’re asking. But equally I don’t mind if you want to go to the best place for History, say, and I want to go to the best place for Economics. Unless you’re planning a different continent or something. Then we’d have words.” Arthur smiled at the Merlin-ness of the comment and felt that they’d be Okay. The relief he felt at this surprised him; he supposed he’d always assumed Merlin would be in his future without him having to think much about it, and this mutual decision was the first test of that. 

“Same,” he said grinning, and pulling Merlin into a side-hug. “I’ve been looking at Oxford. And Edinburgh. History and Politics. I want somewhere historical and dreaming spires-y.” Merlin laughed and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s neck. 

“I’ve been looking at Oxford too. Double Honours. Advanced Maths and Economics. And also LSE. London has lots of theatres.” Arthur nodded. 

“So the only problem is if I only get Edinburgh and we’re ten hours away from each other,” he commented. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“Why’s that a problem? I realise that you’re very attached to my penis and all, but there’s Skype. And trains. And weekends.” Arthur grabbed Merlin and tackled him to the ground, to shouts of indignation. 

“Arthur! ARTHUR! What the hell!?” Arthur caught his mouth in a kiss and slid his hands into Merlin’s pants and started coaxing him with his fingers and tongue into making noises of pleasure not annoyance. 

“You’re right, I am very attached to your penis. But also, you are sort of wonderful, you know that?” Merlin blushed in pleasure but rolled his eyes and wiggled his hips.

“Arthur. Concentrate. There’s a penis that wants you here.” After that there wasn’t much talking.

 

As it turned out, they both got Oxford. And they both got Magdalen. And they both got rooms on the same corridor, although realistically they made Arthur’s room into their joint bedroom and Merlin’s room into their joint sitting room and study. At Oxford they arrived as a couple and made friends as a couple. Arthur was dazzling, predictably, instantly the most popular and cool kid at school and best loved Nerd-Jock (not an easy feat). He was soon President of the JCR Society (of course) and part of the rugby and rowing teams (of course) and also a union rep for the college LGBT society (more surprisingly, but Merlin was proudest of this than anything else). Merlin didn’t mind that Arthur was the dazzling one, he was happy. He also joined the LGBT society to support Arthur, and also the Magdalen Players, the college’s amateur thespian society, and also the college choir, where he played as part of the orchestra. On the surface it wouldn’t seem that these circles would mix, but their friends adored each other and they became a tight-knit circle quickly (Merlin’s drama and musical friends Gwen and Will and Freya and Morgana; Arthur’s rugby and rowing friends Lance and Percy and Gwaine and Leon). Arthur and Merlin were the core couple that everyone else gravitated around. 

 

Their own relationship went from strength to strength. It turned out that Arthur was a better cook than Merlin and made himself responsible for keeping them both fed and alive (he was getting quite inventive with pasta). He was also better at keeping their rooms clean and tidy. But Merlin was better at doing their laundry and scheduling their academic and social lives and still allowing enough time for mad-passionate-experimental sex at least once a day. Arthur quite liked keeping Merlin plugged for the day, knowing that his semen from their morning ardour was deep inside his lover, and then as soon as Merlin got back from the Maths lab Arthur would press him against the door and yank his trousers down and pull out the plug and put himself in instead and fuck Merlin hard until they were both sweating and aching and panting and then he’d let Merlin come, filling him up all over again, cleaning him out with his tongue afterwards whilst Merlin lay sleepily on the floor. 

“Clotpole,” he muttered on more than one occasion, “I only came back to drop off my books. I’m _supposed_ to be in the library working right now.” 

“Lies,” Arthur returned easily, massaging Merlin’s feet, and occasionally sucking on his toes (this never failed to make Merlin hard, back arching, ready for round two). As soon as Merlin was moaning softly beneath him Arthur would stand up and pull Merlin to his feet. “But off you go then,” he’d say smugly, watching a whole range of emotions cross Merlin’s face. Merlin always found a way to get the last laugh though. Last time he’d simply dropped to his knees, sucked Arthur into a raging oblivion and then pulled off and left for the library nano-seconds before Arthur would have come. Arthur tortured Merlin quite a bit for that later that evening.

 

Of course, they had their arguments too. Big ones. The first time Arthur saw Merlin drunk and dancing with another man-boy in an Oxford nightclub he nearly went blind with rage. He strode across the dance floor unceremoniously and pulled the offending person away from Merlin by the shirt collar and then stood with his arms crossed glaring at Merlin like he was about to get smacked. Merlin was furious. He stormed back to His room (their sitting room) and slammed and locked the door, and only after Arthur had been punching and kicking it for an hour and their next door neighbour had threatened to ring for the porter had Merlin unlocked the door and let Arthur in. Then he’d started yelling.

“How DARE you act like that!? You’re a complete NEANDERTHAL Arthur Pendragon, not to mention a giant, enormous, pompous, arrogant, PILLOCK! I am SO angry with you! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Like I’m some little wifey? It was a dance! We weren’t even TOUCHING! He’s STRAIGHT! He’s called Mordred and he’s in my Advanced Maths seminars. He’s a FRIEND. And even if he wasn’t straight and a friend, I am ALLOWED to dance with other human beings in the vicinity! PRAT. Now go away. I don’t want to see you at the moment.” Arthur had taken one scathing look at him and marched right out slamming the door behind him and locking his own door, seething to himself all night. How would Merlin feel if _he_ danced with someone else whilst drunk? And did Merlin seriously believe Mordred was straight? Idiot. That man was clearly eyeing-up Merlin and waiting to make his move. And Merlin’s behaviour was just encouraging him. Arthur would never do that, he would never let someone come between him and Merlin. He was devastated that Merlin would. And so he decided not to say sorry. He shut down. 

It was late afternoon on the Day After that Arthur heard the key turn in the lock - and the door stayed closed (he’d bolted it from the inside). He heard a cross huff. 

“Arthur, let me in,” Merlin said quietly outside. Arthur moved across the room and unlocked the door, standing squarely in the doorframe to block Merlin from entering.

“Merlin,” he said politely. “What a pleasant surprise, how can I help you?” Merlin looked at him tiredly. 

“Really? Are we really going to do this? Alternatively we could have a conversation like adults?” Arthur pretended to think about it for a moment and then shook his head. 

“No, I’m not Adulting today I’m afraid.” Merlin sighed. 

“My stuff’s in here Arthur, school books, clothes, phone charger; you can’t just lock me out because you’re annoyed with me.” Arthur swept an arm into the room.

“Of course, take whatever you need.” Merlin narrowed his eyes at him and then moved into the room, opening draws and cupboards and taking out his belongings, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor. With every object he removed Arthur felt like someone was stabbing his heart; he felt sick, he couldn’t breathe properly, his brain was screaming _Wrong Wrong Wrong!!!_ at him and _Stop this!_ and _STOP THIS RIGHT NOW ARTHUR_ , in Merlin’s voice, strangely. Arthur suddenly shut the door and bolted it. Merlin put his toiletry bag down and turned to look at him. Arthur saw the miserable slant of his shoulders and the desperation in his eyes this time and strode over to him, wrapping both arms around him tightly.

“Don’t go. Please don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m jealous and I’m a prat and I hate that we’ve argued and if you leave this room I might actually be sick so please don’t go.” Arthur tipped Merlin’s face towards his to make Merlin look at him and saw that he was crying. _Shit_. Arthur’s number one rule in life was pretty much Don’t Make Merlin Cry. Followed by Don’t Kill People. The tears turned into actual sobs and Merlin buried himself in Arthur’s arms, heaving with sadness, clutching at him like he might disappear, and Arthur held him and stroked his hair and mentally eviscerated himself. Eventually Merlin stopped crying and sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, “this whole thing is stupid and I love you and I’m sorry I made you jealous. But Arthur you can’t really think I’d ever betray you with someone else?” Arthur shuffled his feet uncomfortably. The truth was, he was waiting for the moment for Merlin to realise that there was a whole ocean out there, he didn’t have to put up with the one fish from his little home pond anymore. “Arthur?” Merlin prompted warily. Arthur shrugged, suddenly exhausted, and went to sit on his - their - bed, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“It’s always been just us Merlin,” he said softly as Merlin came to sit beside him. “And now it’s not, and you might not choose me, and that’s okay, that’s life, and when it happens I’ll deal with it, but when I feel I can still stop it from happening, I want to do that. To keep you. Mine.” Merlin looked at him as though he’d just said he was a Donald Trump supporter. And then shook his head as if to get rid of water from his ears, or nonsense from his brain, and stood up. He quickly stripped, and then pushed Arthur back on the bed and stripped him too, and then leant over to their bedside drawer to get lube, which he poured over his fingers, and then reached back to work himself open, and then he poured lube all over Arthur’s cock and positioned it under himself and then sank straight down onto it in one swift movement, impaling himself on it. Arthur had watched his ministrations carefully, and now pushed up into him, watching his face, wondering what this was, holding Merlin’s slim hips. Merlin put his hands on Arthur’s chest and began to rock up and slam down on Arthur _hard_ and Arthur winced a little at the force with which his penis was hitting Merlin’s prostate. Or tailbone. Either way, Merlin was going to feel that later. 

“Merlin, don’t you want to go more gently?” he cautioned, holding Merlin’s wrists and stroking the inner arm, but Merlin shook his head and slammed down again. 

“This,” he ground out, emphasising what he meant by ‘this’ by twisting Arthur’s penis into his body even further, “ _this_ , is all I’ve ever had, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I can predict the future just as well as you can Arthur but right now this is all I can imagine ever wanting to have. You. Past. Present. Future. I don’t _need_ to _choose_ you; some things just _are_ , and we just _are,_ and were, and will be always, and it’s that simple for me. I’m not _yours_ Arthur because I don’t see me as _me_ , I am part of a _we_.” He lifted himself up and dropped down again, harder, making Arthur shout, and then Arthur suddenly flipped them so that he was on top and he held Merlin’s arms about his head and put his cheek into Merlin’s neck, and pressed them together, skin caressing skin but taking him just as powerfully, just as brutally, revelling in the jaw-clenching, straining, bow-backed Merlin arching uncontrollably beneath him.

“Does that feel good baby?” he murmured, seeing Merlin’s eyes flick to his, pupils blown at the introduction of that new endearment, and Arthur grinned wolfishly in response, “ _oh_ ,” he said softly, “you _like_ me calling you baby, don’t you?” Merlin emitted a sound that he would later deny was a squeak and then a moan, closing his eyes and losing himself entirely to the rhythm of their love making, shuddering every time Arthur pressed those words into his skin “baby, my baby,” “I love you”, “you _are_ mine, always mine,” and then nearly passing out when Arthur took him in hand and stripped him until he was shooting ropes of thick pearly white semen all over Arthur’s chest. Arthur came inside him and then collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. Merlin stroked his back feeling dazed. He winced as Arthur slipped out. No riding his bicycle for a few days, that was for sure. 

“So are we okay?” Arthur mumbled. Merlin looked down at the God clinging to him like a limpet, glued together with their semen, and closed his eyes.

“Yes Arthur, we are okay. We will always be okay.” They fell asleep within moments.

 

It was after university that they realised how completely irregular they were. All their friends went through partners every few months. In love, out of love, fed up with love, sowing wild oats, cheating, being cheated on, thinking the grass is greener, doubting love, finding faults, flaws, reasons to Not Be, and through it all they offered moral support and drinking partnership and tissues and hugs and Arthur made food and Merlin made tea but they found they couldn’t really offer _advice_. Relationships weren’t that hard, were they? As far as they were concerned, all it took was a single _feeling_ \- Family - to explain why there was never any question of leaving, why fights were never make-or-break. Families fought; and still loved each other and belonged to each other afterwards. Yes they _liked_ each other and _fancied_ each other and trusted and respected each other; all the things that their friends touted as important Things To Have in a relationship. But it seemed to them that love was just inevitable. It either wasn’t or it was. With them, it just Was. Everyone else made love overly dramatic and complicated in their eyes. It did make them appreciate each other even more though. 

 

They’d both got jobs in London; Arthur as a Parliamentary Researcher for a Conservative MP in Westminster, and Merlin as an Analyst for JP Morgan, looking at trends in global investments. Arthur’s father bought them the cosy two-bedroom flat they’d found and fallen in love with in Pimlico (and to Arthur’s immense happiness he’d put both their names on the deeds). It was a duplex in an old Victorian building, with soft wooden floors and ornate little fireplaces and high ceilings and high windows opening into trees, like a tree-house. Decorating it was Merlin’s great joy. Arthur was trying to watch Top Gear from the temporary bean bag on the floor as Merlin painted different colours on the wall and pinned up squares of different fabrics and wallpapers around them to decide on a ‘Theme’ (Merlin said having a Theme was very important). 

“What’s our _Theme_ then?” Arthur asked him.

“That’s what I’m trying to decide,” Merlin mumbled back. Arthur shook his head.

“No I mean what’s _Our_ Theme, as a Couple? Surely our interior choices should reflect our Us-ness?” Merlin looked at him thoughtfully.

“That’s actually quite a good point, Arthur,” he remarked. “Well we’re Shabby Chic, obviously. You’re the Chic, I’m the Shabby.” He pointed a stern finger at Arthur. “But remember it’s the Shabby that makes the Chic cosy and warm and comfortable and not coldly beautiful and unapproachable.”

“What does the Chic make the Shabby?” Arthur asked nonchalantly, playing with the remote control.

“Better. Smarter. Socially acceptable. More popular.” Arthur flushed and looked back at Top Gear, where a caravan was on fire. 

“Well then, that’s our Theme,” he said, turning the volume up again. But Merlin was insistent. 

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” he kept demanding, whilst Arthur struggled to stay patient, “How about Georgian Blue with the Tawny Damask Wallpaper and Elephant’s Breath Linen Curtains? And we could get worn old leather sofas and antique oak furniture.” He flapped his hands around the room enthusiastically and Arthur wearily fought his way out of the bean bag to have a look. 

“It looks just like the Eternal Midnight and Mustardseed Inverse Floral combination you showed me five minutes ago.” Merlin looked at him quizzically.

“Arthur, they look completely different.” Arthur tried not to bang his head against the wall.

“Merlin, I really, really love you. That is an indisputable fact. But I also really, really do not care what colours manifest themselves in our home. You can let a rainbow explode in here and I will be happily oblivious. Okay?” Merlin smiled at him softly.

“Our home,” he repeated, almost to himself. Arthur nodded and pushed him against a dry, unencumbered patch of wall.

“Our home,” he agreed, nosing down Merlin’s jaw seductively and feeling his boyfriend go slack against him, head thudding back into the wall behind them. “Colours I am not invested in. Furniture, however, Merlin, _seriously_ interests me. I have a particular fascination with _beds_.” Merlin was a shaking wreck by the time Arthur had finished with him. And he had missed Top Gear. Ah well, he reasoned. That’s what ‘Dave’ was for.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Hunith and Uther came to stay with them regularly. Almost all their university group was now in London so they had a good social network. Arthur did pub nights with his rugby boys and Merlin did opera nights with his musical friends and they did dinner party couple nights at their flat, inviting Lance and Gwen (now together, again, after two break-ups during university and a near break-up afterwards when Lance revealed he’d kissed someone else on a post-university trip to Thailand - Merlin remembered Arthur’s teenage horror at the idea of kissing strangers and smiled, and then frowned, because Gwen was sad and smiling looked insensitive), and Gwaine and his new girlfriend Elena (he had a different one every week from what they could make out), and Leon and Chloé (Chloé’s father owns the fancy French restaurant Leon’s training at as a sou-chef; he decided after Oxford that Law wasn’t for him). They met each other’s work colleagues and Merlin kept snippets of Arthur making newspaper headlines as he lobbied the government for fairer treatment of gay students in schools and inner-city ethnic minority communities. Arthur banned Merlin from using the microwave after he blew up baked beans (literally BLEW UP). Merlin banned Arthur from drinking tequila after he participated a little too enthusiastically at Gwaine's twenty-third birthday party and threw up in their coat cupboard thinking it was the bathroom. Arthur stayed up and held a crying Merlin through the night after Freya miscarried a baby. They discussed having their own children (they agreed, yes, one day). They were happy.

*

It was at a summer garden party the year after they’d moved to London when Merlin had his first ever painful moment of uncertainty. Arthur’s boss (the Conservative MP for Avebury, George Barnaby) had invited round his parliamentary team and constituency office for a bonding barbecue, and Arthur and Edward, the Whitehall-based Researchers, were getting along like a house on fire. Merlin had met Edward before, of course, and knew that he was also gay (Merlin was sure he’d made reference to a boyfriend called Ben at the time), but the idea of being _worried_ about two handsome gay men working alone for long hours in an office together hadn’t crossed his mind. And yet here they were on a sunny day, and Arthur and Edward were lounging on deck chairs drinking beer and smoking (and when did Arthur start _smoking_?) and laughing, and leaning into each other to share private jokes and laughing some more. Merlin felt distinctly uncomfortable. He felt even more uncomfortable when he noticed that Edward kept lightly and casually touching Arthur’s arm to get his attention. Did Merlin ever do that with _his_ work colleagues, he wondered? The rational part of him didn’t think for a minute that Arthur was being unfaithful, but the insecure, vulnerable, _human_ part of him began to worry that maybe there were better people for Arthur out there. People whose interests worked better with Arthur’s, people he had more in common with. Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he and Arthur had had fun and laughed like that. He also couldn’t help but notice, in an impassive and objective way, that Edward was strikingly good looking. And Merlin knew he was a bit, well, _shabby_. Maybe Grown-Up Arthur had different tastes now? The thought made him sick. Arthur noticed that he was quiet all day and waited for them to get home before mentioning it. 

“You okay?” he asked coming up behind Merlin in the kitchen (making tea) and slipping his arms around his waist. Merlin shrugged, his heart bleeding a little. Arthur rested his chin on Merlin’s shoulder and watched him dunk the tea bag. Merlin took it out and added milk and then turned around to face his lover. 

“I didn’t know you smoked?” he said as unaccusingly as he could manage. Arthur looked a bit confused. 

“I don’t?” he said. Merlin made _are you kidding me?_ eyes at him. Arthur looked even more confused. And then his face cleared. “Oh, today? Yeah I had a couple of cigarettes with Ed, he smokes this Italian tobacco that’s really sweet and occasionally I treat myself but …” he trailed off seeing the closed-off expression on Merlin’s face. “Is that’s what’s upset you?” he asked slowly, “That I smoked?” Merlin didn’t know if he was upset about that. And then he realised.

“I think maybe I’m upset that I didn’t _know_ that you sometimes smoke,” he said. “I’ve never not known something about you before.” Arthur put both arms around him in a light embrace again.

“You know everything that _matters_ ,” he countered. “I guess it was always going to happen that when we got jobs and started spending time away from each other for the first time there’d be little unimportant parts of our days that we don’t share with each other. Like what kind of sandwich we had at lunch.”

“You know I always have tuna salad,” Merlin retorted immediately. Arthur smiled fondly. 

“What if one day your local shop ran out of tuna salad and you had to get an egg salad instead. Would you call to tell me?” Merlin realised he probably wouldn’t. And if he liked it and kept having it, Arthur would just notice his changed preference at some point. Like Merlin had just discovered his occasional smoking at some point. Oh. That wasn’t so bad then. Arthur pressed his forehead against Merlin’s. “Am I forgiven?” he asked, stroking a gentle finger along Merlin’s jaw. Merlin tightened up again.

“Arthur, if you weren’t with me, would you fancy Edward?” Arthur stepped back looking surprised. 

“Where on earth did that come from!?” he asked, amazed. 

“You two just seem to get on really well and he makes you laugh a lot and he’s really good looking and maybe he would be better for you?” Arthur snorted and tilted Merlin’s chin up. 

“ _We_ get on really well and _you_ make me laugh a lot and _you’re_ really good looking. Where is this coming from?” Merlin looked down uncomfortably.

“I can’t remember the last time I made you laugh like that.” Arthur looked nonplussed.

“You make me laugh everyday?” he said, perplexed.

“Yes but this was _hysterical_ laughing Arthur. Sides in stitches laughter.” 

“He was telling me about getting caught giving Ben a blowjob in Soho House and running halfway round the West End with his pants down to avoid being charged by the police!” Arthur said animatedly. Merlin couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Oh. Poor Edward,” he said. Arthur nodded.

“Poor, hilarious, happily debauching Ben and avoiding a criminal record Ed,” Arthur agreed. “Lucky, happily committed to Merlin and madly in love Arthur,” he added. Merlin’s ears went red and he rested his head against Arthur’s chest.

“Sorry,” he whispered quietly. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Arthur promised, and held him.

*

At some point when they were both twenty-four, Merlin returned home one evening to find Arthur sitting cross-legged on the rug waiting for him. Merlin admired the messy blonde hair and cheerful face looking relaxed and soft. Arthur patted the ground in front of him.

“Sit,” he said in greeting. Merlin closed the front door and hung up his coat and toed off his shoes and went to kneel in front of Arthur.

“Well hello to you too,” he replied. “This is new. You do know we have perfectly good sofas right?” 

“Right,” Arthur agreed, taking Merlin’s hands in his own. “Did you know it’s been ten years?” 

“What’s been ten years?” Merlin asked carefully. 

“It’s been ten years since we first kissed each other.” Merlin made an _oh_ shape with his mouth and grinned thinking about that day by the pond. 

“Do you still want to kiss me Arthur?” he asked, remembering his younger self’s words. Arthur beamed at him.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” he recited, to Merlin’s amusement. “Do you still want to kiss me?” 

“Only if I can keep my eyes open,” Merlin replied jokingly. Arthur shook his head. 

“This time you have to close them,” he instructed.

“Why?” Merlin challenged. 

“Because I say so,” Arthur said decidedly. Merlin huffed at his bossy lover but complied and closed his eyes. He felt Arthur lean in and press his lips gently against his own, resisting the urge to sweep out his tongue and lick into Arthur’s mouth. Their first kiss had been soft and chaste. Arthur drew back and pressed gentle kisses to Merlin’s eyelids. “Keep these closed,” he commanded and Merlin nodded, still happy to follow Arthur’s orders. He felt Arthur shifting his pose in front of him, arranging Merlin’s limbs so that they were intwined in each other’s laps, taking his hand and kissing his palm and then slipping something onto his finger … _his ring finger_ … Merlin’s eyes flew open and he looked down. A simple Celtic wedding band was glinting proud and golden on his hand. Proud and golden like his Arthur. He looked up at him.

“It was my mother’s.” Arthur said quietly. “It’s the only thing I have of her.” He looked up at Merlin. “I want you to have it. I want you to look after it for me for the rest of our lives.” Merlin knew what this meant. Arthur wanted Merlin to look after _him_ for the rest of their lives. 

“Oh, Arthur,” he mumbled, cheeks wet - and when had he started crying? - “of course, of _course_ I will.”

“You know I’m asking you to marry me?” Arthur clarified with a sniff and Merlin realised _his_ face was wet too. He giggled at the absurdity of Arthur and wrapped both his arms around his neck and kissed him, tongues making love to each other, slipping against and teasing away and chasing back, melding the two men together in a wet kiss, whilst Merlin nodded the entire time.

“Yes I know, you clotpole,” he whispered, “and you know my answer’s yes.” Arthur properly cried then, but sort of laughed too. It resulted in hiccups. He was like a hiccuping human rainbow. Merlin thought he’d never been more beautiful. 

*

Their winter wedding was small but tasteful; about 60 people, family, friends, university professors (Gaius and Kilgarrah were like mad uncles to the boys now), work colleagues. Edward brought his partner Ben and Merlin found he liked them both. It was a quiet ceremony in the registry office in the village where they’d grown up (they walked up the aisle together, in suits), and then a trademark ‘Merthur’ shabby-chic dinner (hog roast and boozy hot chocolate and a Bavarian cheese wedding cake and dark chocolate ginger soufflés) in a marquee opening off the large dining room of Arthur’s family’s country manor. Merlin’s musical friends played classical music at the ceremony and then upbeat jazz at the reception, and Arthur’s rugby friends organised a selection of boisterous floor-sized board games (like Extreme Twister) to get everyone playing together. Merlin would never forget Gaius trying to get his foot to a red spot on the mat and somehow ending up with his cheek on the floor. Uther and Kilgarrah got very competitive about life-sized Jenga too. Arthur had to intervene when it looked like bodily parts might get damaged. They spent Christmas with Uther and Hunith and then spent their honeymoon in January doing the Kerouac trail in mid-West America in a powder-blue Cadillac. They sang loudly as they took turns driving, enjoying the sun and heat and sunglasses and camping under the stars in Yosemite National Park and flying over the Grand Canyon and gambling in tuxedos in Las Vegas and exploring the galleries and pizza parlours of San Francisco and Chicago. They were both dizzy with life and happiness, smiles fixed permanently on their faces, hands always searching for the other’s; by day they revelled in the hiking, the map-reading, the sight-seeing, the eating, the shared adventures, and by night they gloried in each other’s bodies, touching each other again like everything was new. And in a way it was. Merlin was suckling hungrily and reverently at his _husband’s_ penis now. Arthur was breaching his _husband_. Brothers, best-friends, boyfriends, husbands. Arthur studied his life-partner licking his lips after another slice of pizza-pie wonderingly, letting his gaze take in the pale skin, lean frame, wide, innocent blue eyes, unruly dark hair, indie-band t-shirt, Celtic wedding band. This man, his face, his body, so familiar to him, so dear, the best part of every day of his life. But still always new and wonderful somehow. Merlin looked up at him.

“You’re thinking about something serious,” he reprimanded him, kicking his foot lightly under the table.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “You. How amazing it is that you’re my family and my best friend and now my husband. And God, you’re beautiful.” Merlin wrinkled up his nose awkwardly. He was _not_ beautiful. But he felt pleased that Arthur thought so anyway. 

“I think this pizza pie has made you high,” Merlin commented, looking down at the enormous amount of food left a little helplessly. “How do they _eat_ this much anyway?” Arthur couldn’t imagine, he was full, and his appetite was bigger than Merlin’s. 

“Shall we ask them to box the rest and save room for street waffles on the way home?” The smile Merlin gave him in response was breathtaking. 

 

Later that night a naked Merlin sat on top of a naked Arthur, Arthur buried deep inside him, legs and arms wrapped around each other, gently rocking against each other, relishing being close, mouths occasionally finding each other and caressing, tasting, giving and taking, but otherwise foreheads pressed together, looking into each other’s eyes, feeling like one thing, a single entity, just existing, just being, not in any hurry to relieve themselves, not seeking explosion, just enjoying, savouring the pleasure of such profound intimacy. After what felt like an eternity of rocking close, by unspoken mutual agreement, they began to stroke each other, change the rhythm, feel the familiar and wonderful rush of _need_ fill their bellies, and then Arthur was filling Merlin, pumping him full of seed, and then tenderly leaning down to take Merlin into his mouth, milking him with his lips until Merlin had thrown his head back and shouted and filled him too. Sated, they both slept as one.

 

Merlin loved every minute of their honeymoon but he loved being home too. There was something magical about the ordinary. Coming home to his _husband_. Going out to the theatre with his _husband_. Squabbling over stacking the dishwasher with his _husband_ (Arthur was a bit anal about stacking it a certain way, whereas Merlin tended to just throw everything in haphazardly and to trust in the machine’s ability to cope). Arthur’s twenty-sixth birthday was approaching and Merlin was determined to cook (even though he knew he risked Arthur’s wrath, having been banned from touching anything in the kitchen other than the fridge and kettle). He invited round their friends, Gwen and Lance, Gwaine and Elena (still together, a miracle), Leon (no longer with Chloé), Percy, and Edward and Ben. Ten people. He could totally cook for ten people. He tasked Gwaine and Leon and Percy with keeping Arthur out of the flat all day, banishing them to a rugby match and pub until 6.30pm, when he told them it was acceptable to return home. Arthur narrowed his eyes at him before leaving after breakfast.

“What are you up to, husband?” he asked suspiciously (Merlin and Arthur usually spent their whole birthday day together). “I hope you’re not going to attempt something _unwise_?” Merlin shuddered a little at the dangerous authority in Arthur’s voice (it went straight to his cock) and shook his head innocently, stomach still fluttering at the word _husband_. 

“Just getting the house ready to have friends over for your not-surprise party,” he said semi-truthfully, before dropping to his knees in front of Arthur and unbuttoning his trousers. “Do you want your fifth birthday present before leaving?” he asked, looking up coyly beneath his eyelashes at Arthur and smiling cheekily (Arthur’s first present had been a massage. Arthur’s second present had been vigorous sex. Arthur’s third present had been an inscribed watch (My Arthur, Yours Only and for All of Time. Merlin). Arthur’s fourth present had been a cooked breakfast - which Merlin picked up from the artisan café down the road, of course). Arthur leant back against the kitchen counter and nodded, carding his fingers through Merlin’s thick hair as Merlin’s sinful mouth went to work on him. 

“God,” Arthur hissed quietly, caressing Merlin’s head, “baby,” he crooned. Merlin adored sucking Arthur, he found it therapeutic and relaxing. Arthur encouraged it as a relaxing pastime. Merlin said he was a prat.

After Arthur had been tucked back in and kissed on the lips and sent off bleary-eyed, Merlin got out the cookbook and all of the ingredients for cake. He carefully cracked the eggs and measured in the flour and cocoa and sugar and butter and whisked everything together and poured the mixture equally into two cake tins (greased first) and then put them into the pre-heated oven (180C, he’d checked four times), before setting the timer for 35 minutes. He could do this. He sat with his nose pressed against the oven the whole time to make sure there were no fire-disasters and was delighted when the buzzer went and the cakes looked like cakes and the testing pin came out clean and he felt like he’d won the London Marathon. Part One down. Next he cleaned their flat, blew up 26 balloons (with a helium pump), hung up a Happy Birthday King Arthur streamer he’d ordered a few weeks ago, set the table for ten people (which involved quite a lot of rearranging of furniture and borrowing four collapsable garden chairs from their downstairs neighbours), and then finalising the playlist for the evening. He guessed the cake would be cool by now. Next up was the decorating. Arthur’s favourite colour was red so he’d bought red food dye for the butter icing and kept adding more and more until it was the shade of a London bus. And then he carefully smeared a layer between cakes before smothering the entire cake with with it, trying (and failing) to give it a smooth finish. Then he added smarties all around the sides. And put a lego Yoda and Luke Skywalker on top. In a blue piping pen he wrote _Happy Birthday Arthur! Yes I made this BY MYSELF. Merlin XXX_. He almost cried at the final result; it was PERFECT and Arthur would love it, he knew. Pre-drinks snacks were easy; he’d chosen Arthur’s favourite crisps (black pepper ridge-cut) and favourite olives (kalamara stuffed with garlic) and he chopped up some carrots and peppers and celery to put around the babaganoush later; it was just a case of putting out bowls when everyone arrived. The main meal - the mountain ahead - was the final challenge. Merlin had decided to make lamb and prune tagine and couscous because it looked easy and Arthur loved Moroccan food. Once again he carefully measured and prepared all his ingredients before he started cooking and then followed the recipe and instructions carefully, not taking his eyes off the oven until the timer beeped. Cautiously he tasted his stew. It was… good. He punched the air and did a little victory dance he would never admit to and then set about washing up. All he would need to do later is reheat. 

Merlin was dressed in his dark skinny jeans and the navy shirt he knew made Arthur’s mouth water, casually reading a magazine when Arthur and the boys arrived. 

“Oh hello,” he said calmly, putting aside his reading. “How was the match?” Arthur was instantly suspicious and went to examine the kitchen (Merlin had hidden everything and smiled inwardly). Gwaine plonked himself down on the chair. 

“Terrible,” he announced gloomily, “Saracens smashed us.” Gwaine was Irish. At least Arthur would be pleased. 

“Oh dear,” Merlin said, not remotely interested in rugby. “Well let me get you a drink?” he offered brightly. “Beer? Wine? Whisky?” Gwaine was snuggling down further into the corner of his sofa and looked like he might fall asleep.

“Beer with a whisky chaser thanks, there’s a good lad.” Merlin rolled his eyes and Leon chuckled as he sat down in an armchair and Percy emerged from their bathroom. 

“Nice balloons,” he commented genially. Merlin nodded. 

“Red and gold for the King,” he said solemnly. “What do you guys want to drink?” 

Soon everyone had arrived and the music was playing and the dips were out and the drinks were flowing and Merlin was feeling especially accomplished and pleased with himself. Arthur came to join him in the kitchen were he was replenishing the crisp bowl. 

“You’re looking far too smug,” Arthur commented, “I don’t like it. If I found out you put your life in danger at any point today you will be in major, _major_ trouble.” Merlin snorted.

“Is that a promise?” he teased, leaning in to kiss Arthur, and finding the kiss deepened into _groping_ somewhat inappropriately considering their guests were sitting less than a metre away. “Arthur!” Merlin swatted him, making a futile attempt to remove Arthur from sucking at his neck, but Arthur was determined. 

“You wore this outfit on purpose,” he croaked, pressing his hard cock into Merlin’s thigh. Merlin groaned.

“Jesus, Arthur! Just wait until later like a normal person, won’t you?” Arthur grinned lasciviously. 

“But it’s my birthday.” 

“Yes and you’ve a whole room of people who love you here to celebrate that. We’ll celebrate in PRIVATE, later. Go.” Merlin shooed an adorably pouting Arthur away. 

When Merlin brought his tagine and couscous to the table and invited everyone to sit down, Arthur stared at him, mouth gaping. 

“Did you actually _make_ this?” he asked incredulously. Merlin nodded proudly. “Without supervision?” Arthur continued, looking at Gwen hopefully. Gwen shrugged and shook her head. Arthur sat down faintly. “We’re all going to die,” he muttered. 

“Oi!” Merlin exclaimed, “I tested it, it’s nice, be quiet.” As it turned out, everyone agreed that the food was delicious and Merlin’s ears were glowing as red as Rudolph’s nose at all the praise. And especially from the look of pure devotion smouldering on Arthur’s face every time he looked at him. Which was quite a lot. Especially as he knew Arthur would be intently staring back. 

When Arthur saw his cake he actually bent double and laughed, before gathering Merlin into his arms and peppering his face with kisses. 

“This is the most amazing birthday cake I’ve ever seen!” he said delightedly, taking a photo on his iPhone and sending it to Hunith with a _Look what your son made!_ caption. She sent back an emoticon of a ghost screaming in horror. That made Arthur laugh even more. Merlin pouted in mock-offence. Arthur’s hand sliding up his thigh under the table made it difficult to be properly angry though. Everyone was in high spirits; Gwaine and Elena were tipsy and on usual merry form, Leon was calm and charming and got on very well with Edward and Ben who entertained the table with more hilarious public-displays-of-nudity escapade stories (Merlin was in stitches too this time), Percy was affable and happy as always; the only two people at the table not participating in the merrymaking were Gwen and Lance. Lance was staring moodily at his plate and Gwen’s temple was throbbing as she shredded a napkin. 

“I think you killed it,” Gwaine said cheerfully and Gwen threw the tatters down on to the table. 

“You men are all fucking BASTARDS!” she swore loudly, and stormed into Merlin and Arthur’s spare bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Everyone looked at Lance. He shrugged.

“I was offered another eight-month posting studying wildlife in Tanzania. I said yes. Gwen says I should have discussed it with her first. Now we’re not talking. Sorry guys,” he directed his apology towards Merlin and Arthur. They both shook their heads, waving it away; this wasn’t the first time the whole group had been involved in a Lance and Gwen argument. 

“I’ll go and make sure she’s okay,” Merlin said, standing up and making his way to the bedroom. Inside he found Gwen crying on the floor. He sat down next to her and put his arms round her. “Want to talk about it?” he offered. Gwen shook her head no. They sat quietly for a while until Gwen stopped crying. 

“How do you and Arthur do it?” she asked eventually.

“Do what?” Merlin said. Gwen gestured around the room in an all-encompassing _everything_ gesture. 

“This?” Merlin didn’t really know what to say to her. He knew her question wasn’t really about him and Arthur anyway. Her question was about her and Lance.

“Do you love him?” Merlin asked, turning the questioning on her instead. Gwen looked at him. “I mean really _love_ him Gwen. Like he’s the only person in this world that feels like home to you, and you admire _everything_ about him, everything he sacrifices to try and make the world better?” Gwen looked away, so Merlin pressed on. “It seems to me you’ve always known that Lance is one of those free-spirit save-the-world guys. He always planned to travel. His career is studying and preserving species and ecosystems and you know he can’t do that in the UK. You chose - and choose - to be with him knowing all that. And yet now you’re asking him to change and making him feel guilty that he doesn’t want to. If you _love_ him, you accept him as he is. That includes the things he cares about and his choices, because you love those too. You either deal with a long-distance relationship or you go with him. Or you break-up with him and find someone who wants to play house with you in England. But I think the choice is yours Gwen. Lance has made his: he loves his career and he loves you and he’s not planning on walking away from either. So … do you love him, or not? If not, let him go. Stop making both of you unhappy.” Gwen made an annoyed distressed sound.

“God Merlin, you make it sound like it’s so easy.” Merlin was really at a loss.

“I think it _is_ easy,” he replied. 

“What would _you_ do if Arthur spent most of his year overseas?” Merlin didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’d go with him. And he’d do the same for me.” 

“What about your career? Or _his_ career if he gave it up to follow you?”

“My career isn’t as important to me as he is. Same for him.” 

“But in this instance - Lance’s career _is_ important to him, and my career _is_ important to me - and they’re in different countries. Why should Lance get to have his career and me have to give up mine to follow him?” 

“No-one has to do anything Gwen, that’s the point. You can both love each other and your careers and have a long-distance relationship; Lance would accept that, you won’t. So, you can both love each other and your careers and decide you don’t want a long-distance relationship and break up. Or, you can decide to move _your_ career to be with him, because your career _is_ moveable - you’re a nurse, be a nurse in Africa. At the moment you’re not making any compromises; you want your career here and you want him here and you want not to have to give anything up, but you’re asking him to give up everything about himself. Everything about the Him that you’re supposed to _love_. And then getting cross when he says no.” Gwen stared at Merlin for a while and he started to feel uncomfortable. He’s never felt sure if people want him to be honest when they ask for advice or just to tell them that they’re in the right and that everything’s going to be okay. There’s a soft knock on the door and Lance pokes his head around. 

“Hi,” he says a little nervously. “Am I allowed in?” Merlin looks at Gwen and nods and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He hopes they can sort it out. But tonight is about Arthur for him, not Gwen.

 

“What’s going on with Gwen?” Arthur asks with Merlin curled against him on the sofa when everyone else has gone home. Merlin snuffles into his armpit.

“I don’t get it,” he mumbles. Arthur strokes his hair comfortingly. “She says she loves him but she’s always trying to change him and cross with him for being who he is. I love Gwen, you know I do, but I don’t get it. It’s not what I know as love.” Arthur kisses his forehead tenderly. 

“Poor Lance,” he says softly. “I hope we’re never like that.”

“We won’t be,” Merlin says certainly. Arthur smiles into his husband’s hair.

“By the way, you’re doing all the cooking from now on. Bloody amazing. Full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

“I can only cook on special occasions,” Merlin counters half-asleep, “otherwise it’s your job.” Arthur’s prepared to engage in battle but soon hears Merlin snoring like a puppy and sighs; his hopes of kinky sex have gone right out of the window. He finds he doesn’t mind. This is enough.


	5. Chapter 5

They’re twenty-seven when they start talking about children again. Merlin’s fed up of banking hours and wants to raise their family whilst earning a bit of money as a freelance maths tutor. Arthur’s career in politics is going from strength to strength and he thinks if they move to a small country constituency he can run as the Conservative MP and start paving the road for ministership, prime or otherwise. He’s making waves in Parliament, and Merlin’s so proud of him. They discuss adoption but ultimately decide to go down the surrogacy route, wanting the biological connection. They flip a coin to see who’s sperm they will use first, and Arthur wins (Heads). Whilst they’re going through the first rounds of IVF with their chosen surrogate (a yoga instructor called Rachel), they also start looking for a country house in Lymeston in Oxfordshire. Merlin finds a chocolate box house with four bedrooms and a kitchen with a range and roses around the window and an orchard and a duck pond and Arthur can tell he’s fallen totally in love and is already thinking about _Themes_ (and Arthur _fears_ what they might be, given Merlin’s newfound obsession with Tim Burton). They offer the estate agent the asking price and ten weeks later they’re moving in. They keep on the London flat for Arthur when he needs to be in Whitehall, but Lymeston’s only 35 minutes by train from Euston and Arthur’s certain he’s robust enough to handle the daily commute. That’s the plan, anyway; London flat, emergencies only.

*

Shortly after moving in to Mallard House they find out that the last round of IVF has been successful and Rachel is pregnant. In nine months they’re going to have a baby. Merlin insists on getting to know Rachel and starts inviting her and her own young family round for Sunday lunch, on asking her about her nursery colour-preferences, and Arthur feels weird about it but doesn’t want to spoil Merlin’s excitement and disregard Rachel’s kindness; he knows this woman’s altruistically donating her eggs and her body to their family, and he’s grateful to her, but he doesn’t really want her to be _part_ of it, and he feels a bit shit about that, especially as she seems to be Merlin’s new BFF (Merlin is now going to her pre-natal yoga classes three times a week, which Arthur thinks is completely inappropriate, unnecessary, and absurd. Not to mention hurtful). It’s supposed to be _their_ child for Christ’s sake, not Merlin’s and Rachel’s. So Arthur deals with his pain by avoiding the cause of it and lets them get on with choosing cots and clothes and generally preparing for his firstborn child without him, whilst he immerses himself in his increasingly demanding job. It’s after another long day in parliament that he crawls into his London bed, yet another night without Merlin, and checks his phone to find a voicemail. _Hi Arthur, it’s, um, me, Merlin. Hopefully you still recognise my voice! I guess you’re still at work then? That’s fine, I was just hoping to speak to you if you’re free at all. We found out about the gender of our baby today and I thought you might like to know. We’ve started painting the nursery, it’s kind of a Tinkerbell yellow, if you can imagine that. I know you’ll probably hate it, you don’t like bright colours. I think babies are supposed to like them though, and I wanted our baby to feel like it’s surrounded by sunshine. Anyway, I’m rambling, I just miss you, it feels like it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other properly, and I hope you’ll come home soon. Rachel’s keeping me fed! Her husband and kids are really nice too, I think you’ll like them. Okay well, I’ll go now before I get cut off by your machine. I hope you’re okay Arthur. I love you.”_ Arthur listens as the phone call disconnects and the voice of his love disappears and he throws his phone under his bed. _Rachel_ is choosing the nursery colour and _Rachel_ is cooking for his husband. Rachel is giving Merlin everything he can’t. Arthur can’t deal with feeling jealous at the moment, and he doesn’t want to put a shadow over Merlin’s first experience of impending fatherhood, so he decides to stay away and let Merlin enjoy the preparations without him. 

* 

_Hey Arthur, it’s me again. It was nice to speak to you the other night. How did campaigning go in Leeds? I saw the Tories are ahead again in the polls, you must be pleased? The kitchen is done now, baby proofed and everything! Honestly, I can’t open a single cupboard. I’ve been looking at this book about names and I was thinking of Eva? Although I know your mum was Lucinda, so maybe you want to use that? Or maybe keep it as a middle name? I know it’s still a few months away but it’d be nice to think of our daughter with a name, you know? Will you be able to get home this weekend? Mum and your dad are doing a barbecue on Sunday, I think I’ll invite Rachel and her family …_

 

_Hi, it’s me! I just spoke to Gwaine, I can’t believe he proposed to Elena! He said you guys went for a drink on Tuesday, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Gwen’s going to take this hard, huh? Have you spoken to Lance at all since they broke up? Guess you haven’t really had time. God, I miss you Arthur. Everything’s empty without you … the bed, the house, me. Come back soon, okay? Or I can come and join you instead?_

 

_Hi Arthur. I’m not sure whereabouts you are now, actually. Polls are still looking good though. It’s been a busy couple of days here, Rachel was having some pains so it was all a bit stressful, but the hospital says everything’s okay, so that’s good. Only a few weeks to go now, can you believe? Will you be able to take some paternity leave? Oh - hang on Rachel - sorry Arthur I’ve got to go. Call me when you can._

 

_I’m at the hospital. Rachel’s in labour. It’s too soon but the doctors think it’ll be alright. She’s coming Arthur. Please get this._

 *

Arthur did get ‘this’ the morning after; he’d been up the night before drinking his sorrows into oblivion with Ed, his phone turned off. He couldn’t bear being around Merlin since Rachel got pregnant. It was all ‘Rachel said this’ and ‘Rachel thinks that’ and ‘what about Rachel’ and ‘me and Rachel’ everything. God, they’d even mutated into a ‘We’ at some stage. Arthur didn’t know how to make it better. It was technically _his_ child inside the woman! He should feel _something_ , surely? But all he felt was loss, the grief of Merlin’s absence, the regret at the growing chasm between them. And the wider it got, the harder it got to acknowledge. So he ignored it. And then he got a phone call saying his daughter was being born. Twelve hours too late. 

 

He got to the hospital two hours later and desperately enquired after a Merlin Emerson. He was directed up to a private hospital room in ICU and found Merlin sitting in an armchair, a small bundle sleeping in his arms. 

“Hey,” Arthur said softly, crouching down in front of him, resting his hands on Merlin’s knees. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” Merlin didn’t look at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, Arthur knew he’d been crying.

“In my head I’ve been calling her Eva,” he whispered quietly, stroking the tiny head and smiling down at the little frown he received in return. Arthur looked at the perfect little person in his husband’s arms. He held out his arms in a silent request, and Merlin passed their daughter over. Arthur stared down at her and fell in love. 

“She looks like an Eva,” he agreed, “Eva Primrose Emerson-Pendragon. EP-EP.”

“What about your mum?” Merlin asked. Arthur shrugged.

“She’s our daughter, not my mum,” he replied simply. “But thank you for being thoughtful.” Merlin looked down at his hands, tired and stressed and sad. “Have you called Mum and Dad?” Arthur asked, meaning Merlin’s mum and his own father. Merlin nodded.

“Yes they said they’d visit this evening.” Arthur sat on the bed and examined the tiny lips and tiny fingers he held, terrified of damaging them. “How’s Rachel?” he asked cautiously, remembering the other party in their parenthood.

“She was discharged earlier,” Merlin responded lifelessly. “Eva’s premature so she’ll have to stay a few days to make sure she’s okay, but Rachel had an easy, natural birth, so they said she could go home quickly.” 

“I guess she’ll be coming back to visit?” Arthur pushed, resignedly. Merlin kept looking at his knees.

“Not if you don’t want her to,” he mumbled, eyes filled with pain, tears long cried out. Arthur _didn’t_ want her to, but also he didn’t feel that this was the time to broach their ocean of misunderstanding and misery. Not in depth anyway.

“Look - I’m sorry I haven’t been here Merlin. I know you’ve adapted really well to Rachel and made her part of the family. But she’s not _my_ family. Can you understand that? I don’t want someone else in our marriage.”

“She’s not in our marriage,” Merlin replied. “We don’t _have_ a marriage at the moment. And either way, she’s our daughter’s parent, that’s all. I’ll always feel close to her for _giving_ us our family. I don’t know what else to say to you.” Arthur felt the distance and their individual disappointment and resentment festering between them like an infection.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, not knowing - for the first time - what Merlin’s answer might be. Merlin closed his eyes and pulled his knees up into his chest.

“You’re my family Arthur,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly, brokenly. “There’ll always be an innate love there. But right now I feel like you’re a stranger. I’ve barely seen you for nine months. I’ve barely _spoken_ to you. I can’t even remember the last time we were … together. Sexually, emotionally, mentally; I’ve been alone for months. I don’t think I can make that loneliness disappear. This should have been such a happy time for Us and instead it’s been horrible. _You’ve_ made it horrible. And I don’t know why.”

“You brought Rachel into our marriage, that’s _why_ ,” Arthur snapped. “I knew I couldn’t be _happy_ about it so I stayed away so I _wouldn’t_ ruin this time for you.” 

“ _We_ brought Rachel into our _lives_ ,” Merlin corrected angrily, “not our _marriage_ , when we asked her to be the mother of our baby. What, did you think she’d just be an invisible baby-growing machine we’d never see, we’d just find a baby on our doorstep one day, wrapped up like a cartoon Stalk delivery? And what happens if we want to expand our family and give Eva a sibling? Using _me_ next time? Wouldn’t it be nicer to use the same surrogate and give our children a biological connection? Do you think she’ll feel _inclined_ to give us another egg and her body for another nine months if we treat her like she’s nobody to us?” Eva started to respond to the tension and raised voices in the room and began to cry, opening her eyes for the first time, and Arthur saw that they were different colours; one was hazel and one was lilac. It was sort of magical. Arthur wasn’t sure how to stop a baby crying so he began to rock her carefully in his arms whilst bouncing up and down lightly on the bed too. Knowing his luck, he’d probably just end up making her sick. Arthur didn’t want to mess up his child, or his marriage, any more than he had already. He reached out his hand for Merlin’s. 

“I want to make it better,” Arthur said.

“Then make it better,” Merlin demanded fiercely, before standing up and leaving the room.

 

It took time. Actual time, not just the metaphor. Arthur took paternity leave (it helped that it coincided with parliament being in recess for two months), and moved back into their country house and their marital bed and resumed kitchen duties and tried to at least start being friends with Merlin again. He was slightly shocked that the bond they’d forged and strengthened over twenty-seven years had only taken nine months to wear thin. That worried him, but he realised it hadn’t broken. That was something. 

There were moments when he wondered what the hell they’d done, making the decision to bring a squalling baby into their house and relationship, and Arthur felt his patience fraying when Eva had one of her hysterical yelling sessions for an hour at 3am. And when she filled nappies with green stuff that no human being should produce, especially not one just drinking formula. Frankly he’d never felt so tired and disgusted in his life. But there were other moments when she was sleeping in one of her cute romper suits covered in ducks, wisps of down-soft blonde hair sticking to her forehead, looking every bit Arthur’s child, and then Arthur felt the _Home_ feeling that had disappeared when Rachel got pregnant. That feeling grew even stronger when he watched Merlin with Eva. There was something beautiful about seeing his handsome husband padding barefoot around the nursery comforting Eva at 5am, just as dawn light was creeping through the windows, his pale skin glowing in that eerie white-blue morning light, his dark hair ruffled, eyes sleepy, the shadow of stubble across his jawline, thin sleep-shirt clinging to his wiry frame, gently rubbing Eva’s back, kissing her temples, whispering _Daddy loves you. Papa loves you._ Merlin called himself Daddy and Arthur Papa. Arthur liked it. 

After a month of watching, Arthur worked up the courage one morning to make his presence known and walked into the room to stand behind Merlin, slipping his arms around his husband’s narrow waist, right hand resting just slightly underneath his t-shirt, thumb stroking circles into the taut, soft skin of his belly, pulling Merlin to lean back against him and then swaying with him and adding his own kisses and whispers to the mix. _Papa loves_ ** _Daddy_** _. Papa_ ** _wants_** _Daddy._ Merlin closed his eyes and let his head fall back to Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur leant down to run a tongue down his strong neck, sucking a kiss into the sensitive space between neck and shoulder, hand now unapologetically exploring the landscape of Merlin’s body, utterly familiar and wonderful. He felt Merlin arch softly against him and slid his hand lower down, into Merlin’s cotton sleep-shorts, gratified to find Merlin hard and straining, pre-come already moistening his tip. It had been _months_. Eva was a month-old and they hadn’t touched each other in that time, just familiarising themselves with living together again first, just allowing their pain to fade, the tides of mutual misunderstanding to wash away, and before that they hadn’t been intimate since mid-way through the pregnancy, when Arthur was still pretending to them both that Everything Was Fine. So this was … a lot. Merlin turned his face into Arthur’s neck and moaned into it, simultaneously rocking into Arthur’s hand. 

“Come back to bed?” Arthur whispered to him, stroking his length, nuzzling his cheek, and Merlin - thank God - nodded, and carefully extricated himself to put Eva back in her cot. She snuffled slightly but also - thank God - stayed asleep. This morning God seemed to be on their side. Arthur took Merlin’s hand and together they walked back to their bedroom. He paused inside the door and tugged Merlin’s t-shirt. “Off,” he commanded, “everything off.” Merlin reached down to pull-his t-shirt over his head and then slipped off his shorts, and Arthur nearly fell to his knees right then to worship the flat planes of his husband’s body. Arthur took his own garments off and saw Merlin looking too, reacquainting himself with naked Arthur, and Arthur was pleased to see his eyes blown, wide with lust, his lips parted, body straining towards Arthur’s. Arthur stepped closer so that every inch of their skin, toes to torsos, was pressing against each other’s and felt Merlin shudder, his need palpable. Arthur lifted a hand to his chin and stroked it gently. “I love you,” he said quietly, “I’m so sorry and I love you.” Merlin’s eyes were wet but he smiled and pulled Arthur down to kiss him, warm, sweet, eager, his tongue apologising with something better than words. Their hands went about apologising too, stroking over each other’s bodies, reassuring, reclaiming. Arthur walked them back to the bed and pushed Merlin down, crawling over him, covering him, and Merlin arched and moaned beneath him. “It’s okay baby,” Arthur murmured soothingly, kissing his way down Merlin’s body, “I’m going to take care of you.” Merlin kept whispering _Arthur_ again and again as Arthur ran his tongue over Merlin’s nipples, his hipbones, his bellybutton, the arches of his feet (that had Merlin bowed, head thrown back, gasping), the inside of his thighs, and then finally, _finally_ his hole, laving over it, lavishing it with affection, licking into it, loosening it for later, and Merlin became an incoherent, babbling, whining, breathless wreck. Arthur exalted. Merlin was undone, melted, the ice gone, and Arthur felt the invisible light that bound them explode into the cosmos itself again, as he finally drew Merlin’s cock into his mouth and sucked him mercilessly, ferociously, _growling_ as he felt Merlin shoot a river of hot come down his throat. He kept tonguing at Merlin until he was soft, his body pliant beneath him, and then he withdrew, reached over to the bedside table to find lube (and bless Merlin for stocking their bedside table even when Arthur hadn’t been here), and set about working Merlin open properly, Merlin’s hands stroking through his hair, softly watching his lover prepare him with infinite care, and then Arthur lined up his cock and pushed inside him and Merlin let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This was right. It hurt, he was tight, it had been a long time, but he and his husband were physically locked together again and that was Good. Arthur positioned Merlin’s legs around his waist and then leant down to kiss him, arm above his head, holding his weight, other arm in between their bodies, working Merlin’s cock back into arousal, and he began to move, in and out, slow, deep, hard, Merlin wrapped around him like a human hug, embracing, welcoming home, inviting. Arthur watched Merlin’s face, though, and saw the discomfort there. “Baby?” he whispered softly, cock dragging out of Merlin and then sliding deeply in. Arthur kissed his nose.

“I’m - ah - I’m fine,” Merlin managed, wincing, eyes closed, “it’s just - been - ah - a while. I’m tight. Keep going, please. I need - god - I need this.” 

“Oh, love. Me too, but not like this. Shhh. It’s okay, I’m not stopping, I’m just going to shift us to make it more comfortable, okay?” Merlin bit his lip and nodded as Arthur withdrew and turned Merlin onto his side, sliding behind him and pulling him into a cosy big spoon little spoon position, arranging Merlin in a more comfortable foetus pose, wrapped securely in Arthur’s arms, legs tangled, and Arthur’s next entrance was much easier, a deeper slide, straight into Merlin’s prostate, and Arthur grinned as Merlin’s own cock perked up again, delighting in the sighs and gasps and groans and grunts - the sounds of love and passion - that he was making Merlin emit. He angled himself to hit Merlin’s prostate again and again and again, all the while wrapping Merlin so tightly in his arms he couldn’t move and tipping his face back so he could plunder his mouth while plundering his arse and Merlin began to slam back against him, pain forgotten, demanding his release physically and vocally with his steady stream of babble _harder, Arthur, oh, God, oh, God, harder, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, ARTH-_ he arched and came again, and his arse clenching around Arthur’s cock brought him over the edge too, closing his eyes as he filled Merlin’s channel with his semen. 

Afterwards he slipped out but kept Merlin locked in his tight embrace, a tangle of limbs and love. “I love you Merlin, you know, don’t you? That I love you?” 

“I know,” Merlin replied, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s arms, “And you know that I love you.” He twisted his head back to see Arthur’s face, “I love you so much Arthur, but don’t ever do this to us again. Don’t disappear again. EVER. Promise me.” Arthur felt a sob shake through him and he shook his head, Merlin holding him safe until he’d cried all he needed to cry.

“I promise I won’t,” he said once he could speak, and he meant it. Merlin sighed in his arms. They were okay.

 

Life got back to normal but with the addition of Eva and - to a much lesser extent - Rachel. Merlin and Arthur were Merlin and Arthur again. They had their friends and family to stay for weekends at their country house, and organised a christening for Eva, and worshipped each other’s bodies and hearts every day, and shared the precious experience of raising their daughter together. Rachel came by once every few weeks for Sunday lunch with her husband and their own two children, but there was never any question about Eva being hers, she acted more like a fond aunt, and Arthur began to relax, and Merlin began to relax, and the strange new annexe to their family became normal and lovely and not relationship-threatening at all.

“I guess I was a bit of an idiot,” Arthur said a little ruefully after another successful Sunday lunch. Merlin snorted in happy, dearly fond exasperation.

“Yes Arthur, you were a total idiot,” he agreed easily, laughing at the bashful expression on his husband’s face. “Fortunately I happen to love you despite your idiocy.” 

“I’m very grateful,” Arthur said solemnly and Merlin laughed again at his seriousness. He really did love his human. 

 

Eva soon began to develop a personality, which delighted both her fathers. She very quickly learnt the word ‘No’ and would pout and shake her head energetically and say No every time she was offered something not to her approval; pumpkin and sweet potato mash was a No. Fluffy Monkey from Auntie Morgana was a No. Beatrix Potter books were a No. Bath time was a No. And bed time was a definite No No No. Arthur pretended to be cross but really he found her entirely captivating and adorable. Every No demonstrated for him an independent mind and he’d look at Merlin and grin stupidly proud and Merlin would just look at the pair of them and shake his head like they were as bad as each other. When Eva wasn’t saying No she was a delightful little girl. Happy, easygoing, smiley, beautifully blonde and pink cheeked and with chubby little feet and hands that Merlin felt compelled to kiss every time they waved in his direction. Eva lying on her back sucking her feet was adorable. Eva banging pans with wooden spoons and laughing was adorable. Eva crawling round the sitting room chasing Arthur was adorable. Eva chewing Merlin’s flip-flop was adorable (Teething. Foam. Parents know). She might be Arthur’s daughter biologically, but Merlin didn’t feel like the outsider, she was absolutely His. And it helped that she was like a mini-Arthur in looks and personality; golden, demanding, supercilious, hilarious. Merlin loved her because she was made of his love. 


	6. Chapter 6

For his twenty-eighth birthday, Arthur arranged to take Merlin to Heston Blumenthal’s experimental restaurant, The Fat Duck. Merlin had been dying to go for ages, tempted by the idea of a 25 course dinner in Wonderland where chocolate tastes like cheese and ice-cream tastes like fish&chips and pasta tastes like oranges. He invited Morgana and Gwen and Freya and Will, Merlin’s closest friends, to join them, and asked Freya if she’d get her most trustworthy student (she was an A-Level Drama teacher) to babysit Eva for the evening. 

Kitty arrived at 6.30pm sharp and Arthur thought Freya knew him well; Kitty _looked_ responsible, with her neat ponytail and sensible tartan shirt and jeans and a backpack full of schoolbooks. She had a smart little red Fiat and everything about her was safe and reliable and friendly and Arthur felt less inclined to put cameras in the house, or failing that just to take Eva with them and tell Kitty to make herself at home and enjoy having a paid evening to herself. Merlin smiled at him knowingly in his trademark _See! I Told You This Would Be Okay!_ look. Arthur rolled his eyes. He insisted on demonstrating how to make Eva’s formula bottles to just the right temperature, how to change Eva’s nappy using cream and talc so she wouldn’t get nappy rash (Eva looked totally bemused at her random and unnecessary nappy change, but went with it patiently, intermittently chewing on a book and singing a soft little _gahgahgah_ song to herself), how to use the baby monitor and disinfect Eva’s dummy if it fell on the floor; then came the list of approved night-time songs and bedtime routines; then the careful installation of emergency numbers to Kitty’s phone, his mobile number and Merlin’s mobile number and Freya’s mobile number and the restaurant’s landline number in case their mobile reception was bad and their local doctor’s number and Merlin’s mum’s number. Kitty was trying not to smile and Eva had stopped chewing her book to stare up at her father with interest, given his odd behaviour (Arthur was showing no signs of wanting to hand her over). Eventually Merlin - silently shaking with laughter - took Eva away from Arthur and gave her to Kitty. Eva looked at her and Kitty smiled. Eva smiled back tentatively and looked at her fathers questioningly. Who was this person with the lumpy chest? Merlin stroked her hair reassuringly.

“Kitty’s going to look after you tonight jellybean. You be good for her, okay?” He turned his attention to Kitty. “You’ll have to forgive my husband, he doesn’t get out much. Just don’t kill our baby please.” Arthur made a distressed sound and looked like he might call the whole evening off, but Eva was pulling Kitty’s earring totally at ease and Kitty didn’t look like a psychopath - but who really knew, these days? - and so Arthur was persuaded to move towards the door. Kitty walked with them and waved Eva’s hand at them.

“Say bye-bye daddy! Bye-bye Papa!” she turned to look at Arthur and Merlin. “Don’t worry Mr Pendragon, Mr Emerson, I’ll call if even the tiniest thing seems unusual. You go and have a lovely birthday.” She blushed looking at Merlin and Arthur looked at Merlin incredulously. Did their babysitter fancy his husband!? 

“Right, er, well, thanks!” Merlin said quickly, ears incriminatingly red, making a dignified but hasty escape to the car. Arthur nodded his thanks to her and kissed Eva who was now blowing spit bubbles and then he backed away to the car too, before he could change his mind. Merlin was already buckled in to the passenger seat. They waved at Kitty and Eva until they were on the road and then Merlin put a reassuring hand on Arthur’s knee (Arthur was clutching the steering wheel, white knuckled).

“It’ll be okay, love,” Merlin cajoled him. Arthur nodded briskly.

“Yes, yes, it’ll be fine,” he agreed, determined to be masculine. “She fancied you,” he said flatly and without inflection. Merlin’s ears went red again.

“She was just shy!” he protested defensively, looking out of the window. Arthur grinned. He loved embarrassing Merlin.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t _blame_ her for fancying you _Mer_ lin,” he said in his most superior voice, before lowering it seductively, and putting his palm over Merlin’s on his knee, “you are, after all, very _very_ fanciable.” Merlin’s face turned pink too and he started playing nervously with the door handle. “I just wish she’d have the courtesy to fancy you _behind_ my back like a normal teenage babysitter and not _right in front of my face_! It makes me feel … territorial.” Merlin looked at him sharply.

“Don’t think you are getting anywhere near my penis until we get home later, Mister,” he cautioned warily, to a bark of laughter from Arthur, but Arthur simply lifted his fingers and kissed them, smiling at his husband.

“What’s yours is mine, my love. Your penis is _My_ penis. And I’ve already said hello to it three times today so I think I can control myself for a few hours.” Merlin stayed pink for most of the journey.

The restaurant was a success, and Arthur was happy to see Merlin so happy. And he was relieved and grateful that _They_ were happy again. Every time a new course was brought to the table Merlin’s face lit up like it used to when he was a little boy preparing for Santa’s visit at Christmas (even when they were both four Arthur found Merlin cute at Christmas). He sampled the violet champagne and chocolate vodka and cherry bakewell red wine and got steadily tipsier as Morgana got steadily louder “This one’s disgusting. Next!” “Ooh yes, I like this one, what’s this one, is this a real clover? Am I actually eating _luck_!?” Freya got gigglier and Will seemed to think the whole thing was a bit poncey but he appreciated the caramel beer and raised a glass in thanks to Arthur. Once again the only person not really enjoying the celebrations was Gwen. Arthur knew Lance was back in the country and wondered whether they’d seen each other. He wondered if Gwen even knew, actually. Lance was happily dating a marine biologist called Lauren. He didn’t think Gwen would be happy about that. She hadn’t found someone new yet. He was so glad he’d found Merlin when they were children and avoided all this complicated business of dealing with peoples exes and nextses. The thought of anyone else even _wanting_ to touch Merlin made him feel slightly nauseous. Things would probably get destroyed too. It wouldn’t be a good thing for Furniture for someone else to touch Merlin. Merlin who was, for some inexplicable reason, now talking in an Irish accent with a napkin tied round his head. He looked like the King of the Land of Odd, wearing the oddest party hat ever invented as the perplexed waiter brought out a Mad Hatter themed red velvet cake (Merlin’s favourite) and everyone in the restaurant sang to him. 

Once they were home and had paid and bid goodnight to Kitty (and Arthur had surreptitiously but thoroughly checked Eva for any signs of damage; she was sleeping peacefully, bottom in the air like a diving duck), Merlin bent Arthur over the bathroom sink unit so that he could watch his husband’s face in the mirror as he slowly debauched him, cock filling his hot channel, hands massaging hot oil into his strong back and shoulders, teeth biting to mark, tongue licking to soothe, diligently taking him apart, soaking up the lust and devotion on Arthur’s face, the relief and pleasure every time Merlin entered him, the strain of the effort of taking it in this position, thighs burning, upper arms burning, clearly lost in the slick heat of the oil and the lube and the sweat and Merlin’s body in his, responding sub-consciously to Merlin’s soft commands, _“open your eyes Arthur,”_ cock sliding in, _“look at me,”_ cock pulling out, _“I want you to watch me whilst I’m taking you,”_ cock sliding in, this time rubbing the nub of Arthur’s prostate. Arthur lets his head fall between his shoulders, sweat dripping into his eyes, _throbbing_ with want and need, _aching_ with how slowly Merlin’s taking him, breaking him down. He feels another bite behind his ear as Merlin whispers _“look at me Arthur”_ again, the spongy tip of his penis lightly but steadily caressing Arthur’s prostate. Arthur can’t take much more and groans “ _Mer_ lin” … but Merlin’s being a bastard and he smiles wickedly, bending closer to whisper hotly in his ear again, “ _Does that feel good Arthur?”_ Arthur thinks he might cry and tries to push back harder to relieve himself a little from the agony of pleasure, also wanting to free his trapped cock, angrily red and weeping through the cockring Merlin had insisted he wear to stop him from coming, but Merlin doesn’t let him move an inch, torturing him until he reaches the crest of his own trance-like pleasure wave and then it crashes down and Merlin’s pouring hot come into him, head back, eyes closed in bliss, strong body glistening from the exertion. He pauses for a moment, looking like he’s in blissed-out Nirvana, but then he hears Arthur’s whimper and opens his eyes and kisses Arthur’s shoulder, taking up the lube again, and making Arthur watch as he slicks up his fingers and slides them quickly into himself and then over Arthur’s aching cock. He pulls Arthur up from the sink and kisses him messily, grinding against him, softly pumping his prick, feeling Arthur shaking beneath his fingers. “Nearly time, love,” he promises, bending over the sink himself so that his arse is open for Arthur. He makes eye contact with Arthur in the mirror. “Make it hurt,” he says and Arthur groans and positions himself, slamming his cock straight into Merlin’s arse and prostate, feeling the dry friction and the tightness from under-preparation as Merlin yells loud enough to wake Eva, face contorted in agony, and Arthur slams into him again and again and again relentlessly and Merlin is so _so_ turned on but he thinks he might actually pass out from the pain so he simply utters his final command, “Come, love” and watches as Arthur unclips the cockring on a brutal thrust and comes inside him immediately, hard, endlessly, keening like an animal. They look at each other in the mirror and the want is still there, heavy in the air between them. Arthur kisses the nape of Merlin’s neck and withdraws, steering him by the hips back into their bedroom and spreading him out on the bed, bonelessly compliant. He crawls his way down Merlin’s body to suckle at his soft cock, still covered in come and lube, trailing his tongue lower and lower, carefully licking away his own semen seeping out of Merlin to soothe the burning of his lover’s raw, abused hole. Merlin simply groans and his cock hardens again and Arthur climbs above him and sinks onto it without preamble, rocking gently against him first and then taking what he wants from him, pinning Merlin still and riding him hard and fast until he wrings out another guttural orgasm from his exhausted lover, and he climaxes too, shooting all over Merlin’s face. Arthur collapses on top of him. Merlin feebly pushes his chest.

“Heavy,” he says eloquently. Arthur rolls off. He feels fuzzy. 

“Your face …” he comments obtusely.

‘Yeah, and my hair,” Merlin agrees sleepily and rolls into Arthur’s side to snuggle. Arthur nuzzles into Merlin’s come-drenched hair and moves his hand to Merlin’s limp cock to toy with his foreskin idly. Merlin sighs comfortably and trails his fingers in patterns over Arthur’s chest. 

“We should shower,” Arthur says half-heartedly. Merlin _hmm_ s and mouths at Arthur’s nipples. Arthur shifts his gaze. “Still horny?” he asks wryly. Merlin sighs _always_ against his chest tiredly. Somewhere under his bone-deep fatigue, Arthur is already aching to be closer to Merlin again too. He leans his face down to kiss him gently. “I never feel like it’s enough.” He slides his hand around to Merlin’s hole and softly presses a finger in, feeling semen ooze out around him. He strokes his finger in and out, feeling Merlin purr. “Just touching,” he mumbles, not awake enough for this to be any kind of serious foreplay, but Merlin suddenly giggles and his cheeks flush. Arthur can’t for the life of him imagine what’s making Merlin blush _now._ “Yes?” he says, eyebrow raised. Merlin looks up at him deadpan. 

“We have certainly come a long way from touching tongues Arthur.” Arthur snorts. 

“You’re making me _really_ horny again now,” he mutters complainingly, feeling a little like his randy teenage self desperate to learn _Merlin_ , and he leans down to lap at Merlin’s tongue, letting them softly tangle together. Arthur cradles his lover’s head and loses himself again, just kissing his husband, sore, sated, sleepy, somehow still wanting more. Their daughter has other plans though, waking them up with her cries. 

“I’ll go,” Arthur whispers, stroking Merlin’s cheek and slipping on a jumper and jogging bottoms to see his daughter. Merlin is the only person entitled to his nudity. 

*

They go through one of their (More) In Love (Than Usual) phases again, both strangely needy, both seeking a constant physical connection. When Merlin sits playing building bricks with Eva on the floor Arthur sits behind him, stroking his back, his arms, his ankles, that inviting sliver of flesh between his jeans and t-shirt. When Merlin reads to her on the sofa Arthur pulls Merlin’s feet into his lap and runs his thumbs along the arches of each foot, massaging his toes and occasionally drawing them to his mouth to suck lightly, always resulting in a hitch in Merlin’s breath as he reads. When Merlin plays the piano with Eva sitting on his lap Arthur stands behind him rubbing his neck, scratching his head lazily. When Merlin feeds Eva from her bottle Arthur opens his legs and takes him out, sucking him as Eva sucks at her bottle. To begin with Merlin is scandalised.

“Arthur, no, no,” he quietly chastises, trying to push his lover’s head away, “not in front of Eva!” Arthur lightly sucks at his tip, licking under his foreskin, and caresses Merlin’s lower belly.

“She won’t notice,” he counters, sliding Merlin’s whole length into his mouth and down his throat and Merlin’s protests are lost in his moans. He tips his head back on the sofa and keeps their daughter pressed to his chest, gurgling at her bottle obliviously as Daddy gets blown by Papa. She pauses momentarily and looks up at Daddy when he suddenly grips her tightly and makes a long noise that Eva heard start deep within him, but he relaxes and so she thinks it’s okay to go back to drinking her bedtime bottle. 

*

Arthur’s busy at work again. Having been selected as his party candidate, he’s been building his local campaign, canvassing local businesses and prominent individuals and attending town and parish council meetings in his bid to get elected as the Conservative MP for Lymeston. Merlin’s happy to be a house dad at the moment, never particularly ambitious, but he does play for his old college choir orchestra, and takes Eva to visit Gaius, his old tutor for tea in the dreaming spires of Oxford. Gaius helps Merlin take on some private maths tutoring, since he can do that at home and work as much or little as he likes.

 

One evening Merlin finishes settling Eva and comes downstairs to find Arthur staring incredulously at the TV. 

“What’s on?” he asks, plonking himself down beside Arthur, who has a large whisky, he notices. Must be stressed. 

“Eurovision,” Arthur says, still strangely entranced by the display in front of him. “This is Moldova,” he gestures to the screen where muscly men dressed as leather-clad warrior-gimps are rolling around a yodelling woman in what looks like a mud pool. “It’s basically become a gay parade rather than a cultural musical exchange, hasn’t it?” Merlin nods, gazing with his head tilted at the suggestively gyrating gimps wondering if they’re supposed to look like they’re doing what they look like they’re doing. Arthur blinks at him.

“Do you find this, um, well, you know …?” Merlin tears his eyes away from the screen and takes a sip of Arthur’s whisky, making a face afterwards. “You always do that,” Arthur comments, “you always steal my whisky and then look like you’ve been poisoned afterwards.” 

“Do I?” Merlin says, shrugging. “And are you asking me if I find this performance - erotic?” Arthur looks at the screen and then at Merlin.

“Well we are … well people might think we’d like this sort of thing?”

“Naked muddy leather-wearing men?” Merlin clarifies. Arthur rubs his neck.

“Yeah.” Merlin makes another face.

“God, no,” he replies, appalled.

“No?” 

“Jesus, Arthur, no! I don’t really think of us as … well … _that_.” 

“As gay?” 

“No.” Arthur looks at him musingly.

“No, me neither I guess. I’m just Merlin-Sexual. I’d definitely find it incredibly distracting if _you_ were dressed like that rolling in mud.” 

“I imagine you would!” Merlin retorted, “Particularly as it would suggest I’d had some sort of particularly severe mental breakdown.” Arthur chuckles and pulls Merlin towards him. 

“Oh, look it’s Germany with another half-naked blonde man,” he comments, some kind of Thor-lookalike striding onto the stage and then macho-dancing to some kind of strobe-lighting electronic music. 

“This is quite catchy,” Merlin says, tapping his foot to the beat. Arthur looks at him and smiles. 

“You always did like a good floor-filler,” he comments. Merlin nods, and then stands up and starts dancing, wiggling his hips and flashing Arthur a grin over his shoulder as he does a sultry catwalk, arms in the air. Arthur laughs and throws a pillow at him. “Save your moves for Gwaine's wedding, boyo. You’ll have an audience then.” Merlin flops back onto the sofa. 

“Are you particularly invested in this gay spectacle or can we watch something else?” Merlin carefully composes his face into the innocent nonchalant expression he knows Arthur finds irresistible. “Like, say, _Vampire Diaries_?”

“You totally fancy Damon,” Arthur says, flicking to Netflix. Merlin doesn’t even try to deny it.

“That I do. Maybe I _am_ a little bit gay after all.” Arthur puts an arm out and Merlin cuddles into it, pulling a rug over them both.

“As long as it’s only a _little_ bit,” Arthur smiles, kissing him on the head. “Mostly I want you to be Arthur-Sexual.”

“I am 99% Arthur-Sexual,” Merlin agrees, scrolling through the episodes to find the one with Damon fighting a werewolf. Merlin _loves_ that episode. Arthur sighs and drinks his whisky. Weirdly, he sort of fancies Elena. Maybe he’s a little bit bi?

 

Arthur gets home cold and wet and exhausted a few nights later. He’s had a busy day door-to-dooring and answering hostile questions about his ‘unorthodox’ personal life from the old-school Tories who stand for ‘normative, white, middle-England’ and unfortunately run the local newspaper. Merlin sees the hunch of his shoulders and worries. Eva is sitting on the kitchen table in nothing but a nappy, covered in cheesy sauce and grinning widely. “Dah!” she squeals when she sees Arthur, making grabby hands at him. She bounces up and down on the table. “Babba!” she holds up her arms. Eva has recently started talking and calls Arthur - Papa - Babba. Merlin is Dadda. They’re both delighted with their new names. Arthur smiles at his cheesy baby tiredly.

“Hello bean. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asks, dropping a kiss to her soft little head and getting a sticky hand pressed against his face in return. It’s after nine o’clock; he looks at Merlin. Merlin simply shrugs, taking something out of the oven. 

“She’s teething, I couldn’t get her to sleep. So we gave up on that terrible idea, didn’t we jellybean?” Eva looks up at Merlin through big blue eyes and smiles quickly before continuing to smear the table with the contents of her food bowl making soft little _chouchouchou_ sounds as she smacks her hands into the mess. Merlin grins at Arthur. “As you can see, she helped me make macaroni cheese and then fancied a bit herself. And _that’s_ when she discovered pasta art, Arthur, look at that castle on the table. Aren’t you proud?” Arthur smiles and takes off his jacket before picking up his daughter. 

“Have you been helping Daddy, pickle?” she babbles something incoherently at him. He walks over to Merlin and kisses his shoulder. “Did you say macaroni cheese?” he asks hopefully. Merlin grins at him.

“With potatoes and bacon, just how you like it.” He passes a steaming bowl and spoon to Arthur and grabs his own bowl. “TV supper?” he suggests. “Followed by a family bath and bed?” Arthur leans over to kiss his husband and nods.

“Thank you. This is perfect.” 

 

Later that night after Eva’s been washed in a tub of bubbles and sung to sleep by Arthur, and the kitchen table has been salvaged, Arthur and Merlin stand under a hot shower together, washing each other quietly. When they’re clean they climb into bed, naked, and curl into each other, Merlin stroking Arthur’s chest and waiting for him to speak. He knows he will when he’s ready.

“They don’t want a gay MP,” he says eventually, quietly.

“Who doesn’t?” Merlin asks.

“The constituents apparently.” Merlin scoffs.

“That’s for the vote to decide,” he says sensibly. “This is just the local media, Arthur. We always knew that this would be the story they ran with.” Arthur nods quietly, and Merlin knows there’s something else. He leans up onto one elbow and takes Arthur’s face. “What else?” he asks. Arthur _growls_ and a look of total exasperation crosses his face.

“They made some awful remark about being a ‘decent’ community upholding ‘traditional British values’ and asked whether I had given due consideration to the concern my ‘pool boy buggering proclivities’ might cause some of the elder citizens?” 

“They did not say that!” Merlin asks, his mouth gaping, face a picture of comic shock. Arthur raises his eyebrows in a _well, exactly_ expression and huffs again tiredly. 

“I’ve had one sexual partner my whole life. I’m married to him. We have a child and cottage in the country and a hybrid eco-car. How is my lifestyle unnatural and my proclivities ‘concerning’?” He rolls over to face Merlin and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Actually, I suppose that anyone watching some of our bedroom antics might be a little alarmed,” he concedes wryly. Merlin smiles and wraps him in his arms.

“There is nothing about Us that is upsetting, Arthur. No-one is going to think that. Mandy -” (Mandy is Arthur’s newly-appointed PR advisor) “- Mandy said we should expect silly stories about you being a _minority_ candidate and the challenge you will face in representing the _majority_ , and she said to ignore it. Tomorrow’s fish and chip paper and all that.” 

“Buggering pool boys, Merlin!” Arthur says crossly. “We don’t even have a pool! From which mystical land do these gay pool boys descend for me to debauch with my wily ways?” Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Screw them,” he says, smilingly. “The people will vote for the best person, Arthur, trust that.” Arthur gathers Merlin to him and kisses him tenderly. 

“Love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Merlin replies firmly. “Shall we sleep now, love?” Arthur nods and Merlin reaches over to put out the light. And then squeals as Arthur assaults him with cold lube. “Well you could have warmed it up first!” Merlin grumbles crossly.

*

That weekend they decide to face the wolves and attend the village’s harvest festival country fair. It’s quaint and old-fashioned; a classic car display, a biggest pumpkin competition, a best cake competition, a Wellington Boot Throwing competition, a pig race, a local ales tent and adjoining hot-dog stand - run by the village butcher - and the team from the local radio station running a live commentary on the day. Merlin has entered a Victoria Sponge Cake in the cake competition, if only to give the ladies from the Women’s Institute the pleasure of beating him. They walk to the fair (on the village green) from their house, each holding one of Eva’s hands as she attempts to walk on bow legs between them, wobbling and gorgeous, hair all tufty at the back from her morning sleep. Merlin thinks she’s more and more like Arthur; his hair tufts in exactly the same way when he gets out of bed in the mornings. He looks the same now as he did at four. Sleep ruffled and vulnerable. It makes him love Eva ever more. 

The local press wants a picture of the man running for the Tories to be their MP and Arthur smiles obligingly, swinging Eva up into his arms and putting an arm around Merlin, refusing to be ashamed or too cautious to publicly demonstrate his affection for his husband. Merlin hates being the centre of attention but he feels safe with Arthur by his side and leans into him shyly but proudly, completely devoted to his family. 

Merlin’s cake wins third prize (and Arthur has the certificate framed for their kitchen), Arthur comes second in the Wellington Boot Throwing competition (Eva watches with astonishment, pointing at Arthur at looking up at Merlin saying “Babba BAH?” as if seeking an explanation), and Eva steals the show when she delightedly escapes from Merlin’s arms and crawls into the pig enclosure. On Monday, a picture of her beaming into a pig’s face, both covered in mud, makes the front page of the local newspaper with the headline GAY MP’S DAUGHTER PLAYS WITH PIG. Merlin thinks it’s the best newspaper article he’s ever seen and cuts it out and frames that for their kitchen too (he also sends a copy to all their friends and family, but doesn’t tell Arthur). Arthur looks up from the headline cringing.

“Oh come on!” Merlin jostles him. “If that’s their worst, we’re laughing!” 


	7. Chapter 7

In November, they attend Gwaine and Elena’s wedding in Ireland. They both get drunk on Guinness and Irish whisky sours and swing each other round the dance floor, this time with Eva dancing between them, bobbing up and down enthusiastically in her little sparkly shoes and puffy dress (she can stand up by herself now, but she can’t really move anywhere). It’s nice to catch up with all their friends; Lance and Lauren are tanned and happy, Gwen and George (a surgeon at the hospital she works at and her new love interest) seem happy and well-suited and Merlin hopes that this means the End of the Lance-Gwen drama days, Percy is hitting on one of Elena’s bridesmaids, a tiny looking girl with shocking red hair who Arthur whispers to Merlin looks just like a leprechaun pixie, and Leon is relaxed and amiably catching up with everyone, back from working in a restaurant in Chicago. He’s totally enchanted by Eva.

“I can’t believe that you two are parents!” he exclaims, watching as Eva carefully unties Arthur’s shoelaces and then proceeds to knot them together again with serious concentration on her face. 

“Clever girl, Eva!” Merlin applauds, and Arthur throws a bread roll at him. 

“Very helpful, thank you _Mer_ lin. Honestly Leon, you have no idea what I have to put up with,” he remarks drily. Leon snorts dismissively.

“You are the happiest men I know,” he counters. Merlin smiles at Arthur softly. 

* 

Eva turns one. Merlin throws her a first birthday party and invites Hunith (grandmother) and Uther (grandfather) and Freya (godmother) and Gwaine (godfather) and Rachel (biological mother) and Kitty (babysitter) around for cupcakes and dancing to the Wiggles. Uther dotes on Eva (he also thinks she looks just like Arthur, and Arthur’s mother), and Eva seems especially fond of him too, always selecting him as her preferred storyteller (this involves placing a book on his knee and then folding her hands together and staring up at him with big eyes until she’s settled on his lap turning the pages of the book for him). Gwaine’s chasing her around the sitting room when Uther comes to find Arthur and Merlin making refreshments in the kitchen.

“I saw the newspapers,” he states, matter-of-fact as always. “I’m proud of you son. You bring honour to the Pendragon name.” Arthur flushes awkwardly, unused to praise from his stern (but unconditionally loving and supportive) father, but Merlin beams on his behalf and offers Uther a chocolate bourbon. 

 *

Christmas is spent with Uther and Hunith at the manor. Eva is spellbound by the Christmas tree fairy lights, and newly obsessed with gingerbread men (she and Merlin made and decorated some to hang on the tree). Now she keeps pulling them off to eat them and Arthur’s terrified she’s going to pull the whole tree on top of her, and subsequently won’t let her out of his sight. 

“This is your fault,” he says to Merlin as she appears with another soggy headless gingerbread man, and Arthur sees the tree lilting to the left where it’s clearly been attacked, not to mention the incriminating trail of gingerbread crumbs adorning the carpet. 

“How is this my fault?” Merlin demands with his eyebrows raised, scooping Eva onto his lap and picking a smartie button off the gingerbread man and popping it into his mouth.

“I don’t know, but I know that it is.” Arthur retorts, suddenly fascinated with Merlin’s mouth. Merlin licks his bottom lip and grins lasciviously at him. “ _Definitely_ your fault,” Arthur huffs.

 

They’re staying in their childhood room, now with a double bed instead of bunk beds, and Arthur lies on his side, staring at the ceiling, the bookshelves still full of their old books, and remembers crawling into Merlin’s bed naked and making him squawk and hide under a pillow. He laughs and Merlin looks up from his book.

“What?” he asks curiously. Arthur rolls over and puts his head on Merlin’s stomach.

“D’you remember the first time you saw me naked in here?” Arthur reminds him, snorting again at the memory. “And then hiding under a pillow after I gave you a blowjob?” Merlin puts his book down and laughs, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“Well you don’t just jump a man with no clothes on!” he says to Arthur defensively.

“I thought you’d be more embarrassed if I asked you to undress me,” Arthur says reflectively. Merlin looks at him.

“I’d have probably died of mortification, yes,” he agrees with a small smile. “After the initial shock though … well, I thought you were perfect,” he says gently, looking down at Arthur. “Everything that happened in this room was perfect.” Arthur gazes up at the ceiling again.

“It’s so odd that we spent our first eighteen years together in this room,” he comments, feeling the ghosts of all the old Arthurs and Merlins breathing in the room. The ones that played Knights of the Round Table and stayed up whispering pirate stories to each other. It’s not unpleasant, just … odd. He tugs Merlin down to lie beside him. “Want to try that tongue touching thing?” Arthur whispers lightly. Merlin shuffles into Arthurs arms and then leans forward and pokes out his tongue expectantly. Arthur does the same, and thrills at the innocent contact between the tips of their tongues. He sees Merlin’s gentle eyes smiling at him and strokes his tongue further over Merlin’s, pulling Merlin’s hard body against his. Merlin closes his eyes and lets their tongues and lips tenderly slide together, relaxing against Arthur, holding him close. 

 *

In the new year, Arthur turns thirty. It marks the beginning of his and Merlin’s thirtieth year of familial togetherness and the sixteenth year of their romantic attachment. Arthur can’t believe it’s coming up for two decades. He wins the MP vote, despite the relentless media attack, and has to spend more time in London again, although he tries to spend a maximum of two nights a week there, in his and Merlin’s first perfect tree-house home, and the rest of the time at their much-loved family home. He and Merlin talk to Rachel about wanting a second baby, this time with Merlin’s seed, and Rachel agrees immediately, more than happy to be able to help them expand their family. Arthur decides she’s one of those saint-like truly altruistic humans that most people think don’t really exist. He wants to find a way to say thank you, so he pays to build her her own yoga studio, so that she can work from home rather than having to rent a place in a gym to run classes. Merlin tries not to smile too fondly, but his approval is breathtaking. He knows that Arthur is making it clear that he won’t be a bastard this time. He actually goes above and beyond to the point that both Rachel and Merlin are a little exasperated with him; he’s at every doctor’s appointment, he goes with Merlin to the (still admittedly pointless for two men) pre-natal yoga classes and learns how to _breathe,_ he looks at colour charts with them and discusses the merits of orange-blossom over wedgwood (and Merlin _knows_ he doesn’t give a shit about nursery colours, and sort of wishes Arthur wasn’t pretending, but he’s also ridiculously excited and happy and he appreciates the effort Arthur is making to ensure this experience is the polar opposite of last time, so he says nothing). He also sets up a WhatsApp group chat called Baby Two and sends hourly messages with links to cots and prams and articles about self-soothing and new brain-training toys and ideas for baby names (as soon as Rachel confirmed the IVF had worked he went out and bought three baby name books which he started to methodically work through when he eventually gets home and crawls into bed at night). The truth is, Arthur’s not just more _secure_ this time round, he’s also more invested. This is _Merlin’s_ baby. A tiny little version of Merlin. He’s so excited about that prospect he barely knows what to do with himself, already bursting with love for his lover’s child, and he wonders if that’s what it was like for Merlin with _his_ biological baby. Merlin climbs into bed next to him.

“Coriolanus?” he suggests casually, one arm behind his head, as he reads through the ‘C’ section of Baby Name Book Two. Merlin doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

“You want the son of gay parents to have ‘anus’ in his name? You can pay for his therapy.” Arthur snorts.

“Fair point,” he says, putting the book away and snuggling up to Merlin. “I’m so excited,” he says honestly, drawing his husband close to him. Merlin smiles back. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“It feels different this time,” Arthur admits. Merlin strokes his back.

“Why?” he asks curiously. Arthur presses his forehead against Merlin’s and slides his leg between his husband’s.

“I think because it’s _yours_ , Merlin. It’s you, and I love you, and the baby will be made of _you_ ,” Arthur looks at his husband in awe, stroking his face wonderingly. “And that’s _amazing_. I’ll have two of you!” Merlin looks pleased and happy but also like maybe Arthur’s gone a little bit mad. 

“That’s how I feel about Eva,” he says softly, kissing Arthur’s jaw. Arthur tightens his hold, utterly overwhelmed and devoted. Merlin turns over to lie on his tummy and slides Arthur’s hand down to his arse. “Make love to me Arthur,” he requests quietly, and closes his eyes as Arthur diligently performs his ministrations to Merlin’s body, loosening his hole, rocking in slowly, heavy against Merlin’s back, worshipping him, tipping his head back to bring their mouths together, drinking from each other, and releasing inside him, hearing Merlin coming too, untouched, with a profoundly contented sigh. 

 *

This time when Rachel goes into labour, it’s a Sunday morning at 5am, and Merlin and Arthur and Eva rush to the hospital together. A now twenty-one-month year-old Eva seems to realise that something serious is happening because she’s unusually quiet, studying the faces of her fathers to see what’s going on. Rachel’s ever-calm husband Mike (a tree-surgeon and landscape gardener) is waiting for them at the hospital, reassuring them that Rachel and the baby are fine. By 8am Arthur is holding a beautiful baby boy with a shock of unruly dark hair; a perfectly formed miniature Merlin. He feels tears welling in his eyes as he falls in love all over again and looks up at the most precious human in his world, an adult-sized replica of the infant in his arms. They fall freely as he thanks Rachel again and again for this extraordinary, amazing, unrepayable gift. Eva looks at her Papa crying and peers curiously into the bundle in his arms which Daddy tells her is her _brother_. She reaches out a hand tentatively to pat the dark little head and the little person _moves_ and Eva is instantly fascinated. Her brother _moves_. She bends down to put a kiss carefully to his head, like her Daddy and Papa do to her when she’s sleepy, and when she looks up, Daddy is crying too. And Papa is crying so much now he’s shaking. Eva stands up on the bed and puts her arms around him. _Shhh_ she whispers, like he does for her when she cries. He smiles then and hugs her too. Daddy takes a photo of them all. 

 

They call their son Clary. Like Merlin, he’s a sweet, quiet, happy little baby. His shy smiles and big round eyes have captivated Arthur’s heart entirely. Adoration knows no bounds. 

 

It’s a lot, having two children under the age of two in the house, especially with Arthur still having to spend two nights a week in London, but as a family they’ve never been stronger, tired and happy, grateful and devoted, utterly smitten with their newest arrival but also doting proudly on their daughter, who is beautifully sweet to Clary and helpful to Merlin, softly padding around with her fluffy-duck blonde hair picking up dropped wet wipes and dummies and singing to Clary when he wakes up and cries and Merlin’s busy. Clary doesn’t cry so much when she’s around, he just looks at her with his big blue eyes and smiles when she pulls faces at him. Arthur’s glad that Merlin had the foresight to make Rachel part of the family. The fact that their children are biological siblings means everything to Arthur. 

 *

He gets home early one warm sunny Thursday (before 6pm), early May, expecting to find Merlin in the kitchen, but the house is empty. 

“Hello?” he calls from the kitchen. There’s no response. He walks back into the hall and jogs up the stairs, wondering if it’s bath-time. He’s not around enough on weeknights to be sure of the evening schedule. The nursery’s empty. He checks his phone to see if Merlin has messaged him to say the’ve gone somewhere for the evening. Nothing. Slowly he walks back downstairs and back into the kitchen. Staring at the sink in disappointment, he hears a child’s laugh from outside and he walks over to the French windows. Eva’s running around naked and Merlin is sitting in the grass with Clary between his legs looking _beautiful_. He’s always beautiful, in a lean masculine beauty sort of way, but tonight he looks ethereally _pretty,_ Arthur thinks, different to usual. His hair’s longer than Arthur’s used to, a mop of dark curls skimming his ears, and he’s wearing clothes Arthur hasn’t seen before; a pale pink shirt with a pattern on it and light cotton trousers. Merlin’s usually a t-shirt and jeans man, it’s Arthur who takes pride in making informed sartorial choices. But he’s laughing and surrounded by May blossoms and daffodils and bluebells and happy children in the evening sun and Arthur thinks he looks like something from a fairytale, a fey creature of magic. His cock stirs and he feels a jolt of burning lust completely inappropriate for the idyllic scene in front of him. He opens the door and leans against the frame, hands in pockets, quietly observing his family. Eva is collecting daisies, he realises, pulling them up with chubby, enthusiastic toddler hands, and running back to Merlin with a lamb-like gamble to drop them in his lap before running off to find more. Clary laughs every time his sister drops more flowers in front of him and Arthur sees Merlin carefully threading together daisy chains, his dark head bent close to their baby son’s dark head, as if engaged in conspiratorial activity. Clary is carefully holding a daisy staring at it earnestly, pausing to look up at his Daddy for reassurance every once in a while and beaming when Merlin smiles at him, before turning back to his daisy and cooing at it softly. Merlin says something to him and then spots Arthur watching them. He grins his trademark Merlin grin, all dimples and sparkly eyes. Arthur makes his way across the lawn and sees Eva barrelling towards him calling “Pap-pah!” and he catches her up and swings her round, kissing her firmly on the head. She kisses his cheek wetly and gives him her latest squashed daisy (waiting for him to praise her - “This is very pretty Bean. Are you making daisy crowns?”) and then she wriggles down and toddles off again. He sits beside Merlin and Clary smiles at him, looking down at his feet shyly, and then reaches his arms out. Arthur scoops him into a hug. 

“Hello my little bear,” he murmurs, as Clary studies his face closely. 

“Dah” Clary says in response, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder and putting a little hand on Arthur’s neck. Arthur strokes his soft hair, down his back, and feels him sigh happily; just like his Daddy. 

“Hello baby,” he says, turning to Merlin, who’s watching them with a smile. “That’s new,” he says, nodding towards Merlin’s shirt. Merlin looks down self-consciously.

“I went shopping with Freya this morning; she decided I needed a summer wardrobe. Do you think it’s a bit mumsy?" he says sardonically, looking down uncertainly. Arthur appraises the feminine shirt, the pale white skin visible beneath, his husband’s curious eyes and wild hair and his cock aches. He takes Merlin’s hand and presses it against his heavy crotch. Merlin’s eyes widen. “You approve then?” Arthur leans in to touch his lips to Merlin’s, lingering to slide his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, and when he draws away Merlin’s eyes are dark. He gazes hungrily over Arthur’s muscular form, broad shoulders amply filling a dark suit, tie slightly loosened, blonde hair ruffled and jawline strong and he shifts infinitesimally closer, eyes on Arthur’s the whole time, pulling Arthur’s hand into his own lap. He’s throbbing hard. Arthur raises his eyebrow. 

“We seem to have a mutual problem,” he murmurs, as Clary looks between his parents enquiringly. “Dahdah dahdah?” he asks. Merlin kisses Arthur’s cheek. 

“Later,” he promises, nuzzling his son’s forehead. Clary snuggles closer against Arthur’s shoulder and chews his fingers. 

 

When the house is quiet with sleeping children, Arthur sits at the kitchen table reading through some reports for work and eating his supper, waiting for Merlin to come down. When Merlin does appear he sits in the chair opposite Arthur and lets out a dramatic sigh.

“So,” he says, “something terrible happened today.” Arthur puts down his papers and fork and looks at Merlin expectantly. Merlin keeps his face neutral. “I found a grey hair,” he announces. Arthur snorts. Merlin kicks him under the table. “Well it’s alright for you Mr Blonde and Movie-Star Gorgeous, _I_ am the one fading here! A bit of sympathy would be nice,” he grumbles, pretending to pout. Arthur looks at the fresh-faced dark-haired youthful and nubile figure in front of him and shakes his head.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly, picking up his fork again. “Firstly, it’s normal once you reach your thirties. I probably have loads of grey hairs, they’re just harder to see because I have lighter hair. Secondly, it was _one_. Thirdly, there is _nothing_ about you that is fading, literally or otherwise. You look exactly the same to me as you did in our first term at Oxford. As of today, with better clothes. Fourthly, even if every single one of your hairs goes grey I will still think you are the sexiest and handsomest person I have ever seen. So, fifthly, stop feeling sorry for yourself and have supper so we can go and watch Doctor Who.” Merlin huffs but looks mollified as he slides out from his chair to get his own plate of fish and salad. 

“I got a call from Lance today,” Arthur says when Merlin returns to the table. Merlin looks up.

“Oh! How is he?” he takes a mouthful of food and then tries to speak with his mouth full. “Achooly, aah, s’hot, sorry! _Where_ is he?” Arthur smirks at Merlin.

“Madagascar, another research posting. Lauren’s looking at coral reefs or something. Anyway, he wanted to know if we’d like to go and stay with them for a summer holiday?” Merlin stops chewing and makes his thinking face.

“Isn’t Madagascar in Africa?” he asks around his food. Arthur nods. Merlin shakes his head adamantly. “No. Way. Africa has cholera, ebola, malaria, yellow-fever, terrorists … we have a two-year old toddler and a four-month old baby, it’s not safe.” Arthur looks at Merlin in amusement.

“I don’t think they have terrorists on Madagascar babes. Everything else you can get vaccinated against.” Merlin makes a horrified face at him.

“Vaccinations are so bad for babies! What are you even saying! No, Arthur.” Arthur sighs, he’d been quite excited at the possibility. 

“Okay. What about somewhere else? We haven’t had a family holiday yet.” 

“As long as it’s somewhere in Europe, I’m totally on board.” 

“What _has_ happened to your adventurous spirit?” Arthur teases. 

“Family’s adventure enough for me,” Merlin retorts. “Clary stuck a fork into a plug socket today. I thought _I_ was going to die. How ‘bout Italy?” He takes another mouthful of food. “Tuscany? How long can you take?” 

“Definitely a fortnight abroad, but I’ll try to take some long weekends here and there too whilst Parliament’s in recess. I’d like a beach.” 

“Oh god,” Merlin said. “Last time you were on a beach we were nearly mobbed to death by that gang of teenage girls following you around. Beach god.” 

“Well I was younger then,” Arthur said modestly, to Merlin’s eye-roll. “Anyway, you can talk, my penis nearly exploded when it saw you in a wet suit!” 

“Your penis nearly explodes on a daily basis Arthur,” Merlin counters flatly. Arthur can’t really deny that.

“I blame you,” he says with a sniff, finishing his food. 

 

They decide to watch Game of Thrones instead of Doctor Who, and in bed instead of on the sofa. It’s cosier. They’re propped up on pillows, feet tangled, lights off, and _this_ Arthur thinks, _this is home_. 

“Do you think we need snacks?” Arthur says as Merlin scrolls through their TV Series library on Amazon to find the next unwatched episode. Merlin looks round at him. 

“You’ll get fat,” he says. 

“ _Mer_ lin!” Arthur says scandalised. “I will _not_ get fat! You said I was a beach god!” 

“You won’t be if you eat snacks in bed,” Merlin retorts smartly, settling back onto his pillows comfortably. Arthur hears the crackle of a packet being extracted from Merlin’s bedside draw. “I on the other hand, am skinny, and will always be skinny, so I’m having Minstrels,” Merlin says smugly, opening the bag and popping a chocolate into his mouth. Arthur looks at him through narrowed eyes. 

“Well that’s rude,” he says flatly, turning to his own bedside draw to extract a bag of jelly babies. He opens them and picks out all the red and black ones, putting them into a little pile on his tummy. “You can have all the rubbish ones,” he says grumpily, putting the remains of the bag between them. Merlin laughs. 

“I think the lime ones are the best anyway,” Merlin says. Arthur knows Merlin likes the green ones, of course; he’s saved the green sweets for Merlin since they were three. It’s just a happy coincidence that he prefers the reds and purples. The fatalist in him would say that it’s another sign they’re a perfect fit. They watch two episodes and eat all the Minstrels (Merlin smacks Arthur’s hand every time he takes one) and jelly babies before Arthur starts to lose focus. He checks the clock, 11.30pm. He’s got to be up in seven hours, and although Eva has started to sleep through the night, Clary will undoubtedly be requiring their attention at least twice before Arthur’s alarm goes. He finds the remote control and presses mute, placing it on the bedside table and rolling over to put his head on the pillow next to Merlin’s. 

“Hi,” he says tiredly. Merlin snuggles against him. 

“Hi,” he says back, nudging Arthur’s nose with his own. “So … marathon, backbreaking kinky sex? Or maybe just a blowjob tonight?” Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s frame and kisses him, his tiredness fading as their tongues slowly lick each other, their lips moving softly together, Merlin’s fingers in Arthur’s hair, pulling him closer, Arthur’s hands roving down the flat planes of Merlin’s stomach. He feels Merlin harden in response. Breaking their embrace, he crawls down Merlin’s body and slips down his pyjama bottoms, skipping foreplay tonight and taking Merlin’s lovely long cock straight into his mouth, sucking him languorously, lifting up Merlin’s hips and encouraging him to fuck into Arthur’s mouth, which he does, rocking himself against Arthur’s face, stifling his moans (and Arthur misses his vocal pre-children-that-can-be-disturbed lover and thinks they need a weekend alone together, he wants Merlin crying in loud frustration beneath him again), and soon he’s pouring himself down Arthur’s throat and Arthur drinks him thirstily, savouring the sweet taste of Merlin’s seed. Merlin stretches back against the bed, cat-like and sleepy, and effortlessly makes Arthur ache with lust as he lets his slim legs fall wide open to reveal his dark pink hole, arching his back sensuously, knowing exactly the effect the sight of him will have on Arthur, whose mouth is watering at the breathing sex-fantasy lying like a sacrificial offering before him. Merlin slowly peels off his t-shirt so that he’s naked and closes his eyes to sleep, the picture of carelessness, knowing it is driving Arthur CRAZY. Sure enough, Arthur groan-growls into his damp thighs and then moves up his pliant body, hands roving possessively over every inch of skin. Merlin hears Arthur’s beside cabinet being opened and finds his arms lifted above his head and tied behind him, a blindfold wrapped securely around his eyes, and then Arthur sets to work, playing with Merlin’s body. His neck is lavished with kisses and sucks and gentle bites, Arthur’s tongue hot in his ear, his nipples are bitten and teased, his stomach stroked, he hears the click of a bottle, massage oil, and Arthur’s big, warm hands are working the muscles in his thighs, soothing his calves, rubbing circles against his feet, his toes are suckled, Arthur knows that’s his weakness, and his cock is hard again, leaking onto his soft lower belly. He bites his lip to stop from moaning, mindful of his baby in the room next door, but Arthur’s on a mission to undo him, it seems, because he pushes Merlin’s knees into his stomach and lets them fall to the side so that he simultaneously has greater access to Merlin’s tight furl whilst being able to keep hold of his feet, caressing his toes as he slides his tongue into Merlin’s hole, tongue-fucking him, devouring the body laid open and bare for him and Merlin arches up into him, fucking himself on Arthur’s tongue, relishing the wet muscle opening him, and he feels the anticipation of the burn to come, neglected cock yearning for attention. Another click of a bottle, lube, and Arthur’s fingers are stroking him open, milking his prostate, and he’s sweating now, desperate, and can’t help but moan as Arthur keeps up the gentle pressure whilst his tongue laps at Merlin’s toes again and Merlin’s gone, a puddle of pure pleasure, mindless bliss, aching, wanting, needing, incoherently begging, pleading. Arthur disappears again and Merlin feels his legs being pushed back over his head so he’s bent in half and the tip of Arthur’s penis is against his hole and Arthur’s pushing inside hard, fully-seated, using Merlin’s body unapologetically, taking him powerfully, weight resting on the backs of Merlin’s legs and Merlin feels like he’s being split in two as Arthur fucks him into oblivion and pounds his prostate and he _keens_ and Arthur puts a warning hand over his mouth, slipping his thumb inside and pressing his tongue - _“shh, suck on this baby, suck on me, shhh”_ \- and he sucks Arthur’s thumb instead of shouting, and the pressure is building and he’s about to come again when Arthur suddenly squeezes his other thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock to keep him from coming. He’s grunting with the effort of supporting himself on one elbow and his knees and chuckling at Merlin’s desperate thumb-sucking, like an act of fellatio worship, and Arthur slows the pace, dragging his cock against Merlin’s prostate, bringing his legs down to wrap around his body, nuzzling his face between Merlin’s neck and shoulder, and they’re locked together again, rocking against each other, Arthur whispering endearments into Merlin’s skin. Arthur pulls out and removes his thumb from Merlin’s mouth, swiftly replacing it with his cock, sliding it in and out of his lips, watching him suckle Arthur greedily as Arthur fucks his face, and then his cock is gone and Arthur’s tongue is fucking his mouth and his cock is back in his arse and Merlin explodes, wave after wave of white love crashing onto his belly, and he’s dizzy as Arthur pumps him full of _his_ love. It takes a minute for him to release Merlin from his ties and Merlin blinks up at him owlishly, taking in the sated smile and shiny brow.

“Just a quick blowjob then?” he breathes out meekly and Arthur laughs into his shoulder. Merlin wraps his limbs around him like a human octopus. They don’t need more words tonight. Tonight their love spoke for them. 


	8. Chapter 8

It’s perhaps the warmer weather or the lighter days or the extreme happiness of family life, but Arthur and Merlin are high on each other again, and insatiable to the point of inconvenience. Their relationship has always ebbed and flowed between best friendship and its affectionate, playful intimacy to infatuated lovers and intense, explicit sex, and Merlin loves both versions of Them, but at the moment he wishes they were less horny because it’s only making him tireder and he spends most of his days sticky in every orifice known to man. And frankly, their behaviour is getting ridiculous, they’re as bad as first-time teenagers who can’t control their hormones. This morning for instance, Merlin went down to the kitchen at 6am to make a bottle for Clary and Eva and a coffee for Arthur, putting Clary in his bouncer seat in the sitting room and Eva on the sofa with CBeebies on, knowing that Arthur would want a family breakfast after his shower before leaving for a long day of debating in the House of Commons (the national elections are coming up and policy is being argued and televised on a daily basis). Merlin was sleepily waiting for the kettle to boil and the bottle-maker to heat up the formula, leaning forwards against the kitchen counter, when he felt Arthur press himself against his back, slowly kissing his neck, one practiced hand sliding under his joggers to stroke his penis, the other hand slipping to his arse, fingers pushing straight into his already raw and loosened and still lube-and-come-filled hole (midnight antics). At this point, Merlin’s so tired he can barely stand up, but his body _always_ responds to Arthur and aches to be filled by him, so he sighs and leans into Arthur’s embrace and is soon pressed forwards onto the counter with Arthur’s penis pushing inside him, fucking him, mouth biting his neck, hands pinning Merlin’s hands to the counter, fingers intwined, and Merlin’s too tired to protest, too tired to speak, too tired to pay attention when he feels a hand patting his leg, until the gentle patting is accompanied by a confused “Dadda?” and he looks down, horrified to see Eva’s worried face watching as Papa’s penis disappears into Daddy, trousers around their ankles.

“Shit shit shit, Arthur, stop, STOP, Eva -” he bites out just as Arthur hits his prostate and he falls forward again and groans and Arthur gently strokes his hands up his back, runs them reassuringly down his flanks as he keeps fucking him into the counter.

“She doesn’t know what we’re doing, it’s okay,” he whispers soothingly to Merlin, licking behind his hear and caressing his balls as he grinds his penis into him again. He turns to Eva as Merlin thuds his head to the counter and whimpers beneath him, “Daddy’s busy at the moment sweetheart, can you look after your brother and watch some television whilst we get breakfast?” A sleep-ruffled Eva still looks concerned and confused. 

“Iamba meech pease,” she says slowly to Merlin, hand still on his leg.

“She - _ah -_ wants - _AH_ \- her - _god_ \- milk, Arthur!” Arthur leans over Merlin to extract one of the bottles from the bottle-maker and hands it down to her. She eagerly takes it and sits on the floor by Merlin’s feet to start drinking it. “Eva - _ah_ \- can you - _uh_ \- check - on - _aaah_ \- _fuck!_ \- your brother - please - princess?” Eva looks up at him with big eyes as she suckles from her bottle, but nods seriously and puts it down to stand up and then picks it up again with both hands to pad softly back into the sitting room. As soon as she’s gone, Arthur pulls out and turns Merlin around and lifts him up to wrap his legs around his waist, putting his arms around Arthur’s neck, feet on the counter behind him, and he slides back into him, fucking him face to face as he claims Merlin’s mouth. He pulls away breathlessly, eyes closed, forehead against Merlin’s and mumbles against his skin, 

“Don’t be angry baby, don’t be cross, I love you, Merlin, god, Merlin, I love you, I need you Merlin, Merlin, _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin,_ ” and Merlin gets lost in the frantic whispered rhythmic chant and rocking and presses his own soft mumbles into Arthur’s hair,

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you too, god I love you Arthur, come inside me love, please baby, come on, fuck me, I’m yours, fuck me Arthur, come inside me, never stop, promise me you’ll never stop, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, baby, please, come on …” Arthur buries his head in Merlin’s neck and shifts his weight into the counter behind so that he can release an arm and take Merlin’s cock in hand, stripping it fast as he shouts loudly and pumps an already full Merlin with more of himself, until there’s semen running thickly down Merlin’s thighs. Merlin clings to Arthur as he’s brought to climax too, cock shooting come straight onto Arthur’s chest, leaving him shaking apart in Arthur’s arms. They stay pressed together tightly, breathing each other in, not ready to let go. Whatever strange force is driving Arthur, Merlin feels it too. Merlin strokes Arthur’s damp hair and holds him close.

“I think we may have just done something illegal in front of our daughter,” Merlin comments soberly. Arthur snuffles against his neck.

“S’not illegal to have sex with your beloved husband. She can’t speak, she won’t remember, don’t worry.” 

“I should go and check on her,” Merlin says anyway, “and Clary - poor baby hasn’t had his bottle yet.” He disentangles himself and wipes his legs efficiently with some kitchen roll and pulls up his joggers, muscles, arse, body aching, eyes dry with fatigue, _everything_ damp from spit and lube and sweat and semen. 

“Come and have a shower with me?” Arthur says imploringly, dragging him close again and sucking a sensitive earlobe into his mouth, rolling it in his tongue, smiling as Merlin sinks against him, allowing Arthur to nuzzle softly. But he shakes his head.

“Real life Arthur,” he whispers, “hungry babies, trains to London,” he takes Arthur’s face in his hands and looks into his eyes. “Later, precious man,” he says devotedly, leaning in to give Arthur a final kiss before turning around to make coffee whilst Arthur takes Clary’s bottle through to the sitting room. He finds his children happily oblivious, Clary snug in a little dragon romper suit, chewing a plastic rattle and bobbing gently up and down in his chair, covered in spit, as the Tweenies or Tellytubbies or Twinkies or whoever they are dance colourfully in front of him, and Eva sitting on a pillow beside him in her glittery _Sleeping Beauty_ onesie, hands in her lap, her own bottle now empty, avidly watching the show before her and singing her quiet gabble when songs she recognises come on. Arthur presses a soft kiss to her head. 

“Papa loves you little bean,” he says quietly and she looks up at him and smiles, holding her arms up for a hug and he lifts her up and bops with her in time to the music for a little while, spinning her around to make her laugh, before placing her on the sofa with a blanket tucked around her and whispering, “Daddy’s coming in a minute. Be good for him today baby girl.” He forces himself to leave the room and trudge upstairs to the shower. He really doesn’t want to go into Parliament today. Leaving home is like being forced apart from a powerful magnet, it physically hurts.

 *

Their holiday comes in the form of Italy as Merlin requested, two weeks in a beach villa with a typically Tuscan terracotta roof and a small saltwater pool and a private stretch of sand. They spend their days taking lazy trips to museums and galleries and dusty churches in the hills, whiling away hours in trattorias eating fresh pasta and warm tomatoes and mozzarella and drinking the rough local red wine, strolling along picturesque cobbled streets slurping at pistachio gelato, both men cool in white linen shirts and shorts and boat shoes, and Merlin’s favourite times, Arthur basking in the hot Mediterranean sun in his swimming trunks, bronzed and golden-haired and muscular, every inch the Roman warrior, from tanned feet to strong legs to firm, broad body, handsome face, playing in the sand with his children, laughing at Clary’s look of adorable disgust at the sand he’s somehow taken into his mouth, grinning up at Merlin with a rare carefree smile. The elections have consumed Arthur day and night and Merlin’s knows he’s hated it, hated the demands on spending time away from his family, but he also knows that things are only going to get worse now the Tories have won, the man Arthur backed as his party’s candidate - forty-three year old Christian Falmouth, likeable, genuine, liberal Right, committed to driving positive change - now PM, and Arthur set to be a crucial member of his cabinet, Minister for Education (Christian had suggested Foreign Affairs initially, but Arthur had declined the privilege, not wanting the international travel that would entail, and even more time apart from his loves). Merlin knows it will mean more time for Arthur in London, and that means more time for Merlin and the children in London, because Merlin’s not prepared to sleep for more than two consecutive nights without his husband, but he’s so proud of him, so in love with him, so _hot_ for him it consumes him, as it has always consumed him. But never fazed him; this is just what he and Arthur are to each other, have always been, natural as breathing, never analysed, accepted and cherished. When Clary and Eva are having their afternoon nap, sleeping peacefully together on a towel on the sand, little pink angels protected by the shade of the parasol, Arthur lying on a towel in the sun beside them, Merlin curls up next to him and lays his head in Arthur’s lap, Arthur stroking his hair, rubbing his neck, the sound of the ocean and the crickets and the birds a lulling soundtrack. He turns his face so that it’s pressed into Arthur’s crotch, slips out Arthur’s cock, and then mouths at it gently, coaxing Arthur’s soft dick into arousal, growing hard on his tongue, and there’s nothing fast or frantic or needy about it, he just lays in Arthur’s lap, sucks Arthur softly, and listens to Italy as Arthur strokes his hair, their eyes closed, heartbeats steady and in time, bonelessly relaxed. When Arthur comes it’s with a soft sigh, tenderly cradling Merlin’s face, and Merlin laps him clean and stays in Arthur’s lap until he is stroked to sleep. Later, when the children are in bed sleeping, Merlin sits nakedly on the built-in ledge in the warm saltwater pool, stroking himself as he waits for Arthur to return with limoncello and palma ham, and then Arthur is on top of him and his cock is inside Arthur’s arse, and they laugh and rock together in the water as Arthur tears bits off the salty meat and presses his fingers to Merlin’s hungry mouth and feeds him sweet limoncello from his own lips, letting his tongue linger in a sweet kiss afterwards. 

 

When they return to England Arthur takes another week off work to enjoy being at home with his family. They spend their days visiting family and in the garden playing games (Arthur nearly wets himself laughing at Merlin’s attempt at painting - his cat looks like a puddle! - but, to be fair, Merlin nearly wets himself laughing too, and Eva and Clary are mystified as they watch their parents collapse with hysteria), but the mornings and evenings are Arthur’s and Merlin’s and this morning Arthur is inside Merlin, missionary style, kissing slowly, comfortably, making love simply for the joy of being close, when they hear Eva outside the door, quietly murmuring “Dadda? Pappa?” against it. They look at each other and by unspoken mutual agreement decide to keep going; they’re both building anyway, it won’t be long, and this is _their_ time.

“Best hurry up anyway,” Merlin says quietly, sliding his heel up Arthur’s calf, “I am _starving_. How’d you fancy making me scrambled eggs for breakfast?” Arthur stops moving and looks down at him incredulously.

“Are you making plans for your first meal of the day whilst I am _inside_ you _Mer_ lin!?” he exclaims indignantly. Merlin snorts and pulls Arthur’s hips down, rocking up against him encouragingly.

“It’s called multi-tasking Arthur, and I am seriously _hungry_.”

“I made you cheese on toast at midnight!” Arthur grumbles, having stayed up with Merlin for Clary’s night feeds (usually he doesn’t because he’s up at 6am for work). Merlin looks at him haughtily.

“Everyone knows that night-feeding uses a lot of energy Arthur,” he says patiently, arching his body open further for Arthur and warmly rubbing Arthur’s arse. Arthur lets out a loud rumble of laughter. The light chattering outside their door stops to listen for sounds of life and Merlin gives Arthur his perfected _That is YOUR fault_ look. Eva knows they’re awake.

“That’s _breastfeeding_ Merlin,” Arthur scoffs, “bodies that _produce milk_ use energy. I don’t think mixing VitaBaby formula counts as the same thing.” Merlin narrows his eyes at him.

“ _You_ try not sleeping through a single night for two years!” he says defensively.

“I haven’t,” Arthur counters lightly, screwing his cock into Merlin’s hole more tightly, “I’ve got _you_ expending all my energy.” 

“Oh, right, we’re doing this because _I_ want to do this,” Merlin huffs, and Arthur stops moving again to look at him quizzically.

“Are you saying that you _don’t_ want to do this?” he asks, making as if to withdraw, but Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur and pushes down the hand on the small of Arthur’s back.

“ _No_ Arthur,” he says tiredly, “I am saying that I am _hungry_ and asking you, please, to hurry up.” Arthur sighs.

“Well this is romantic,” he comments, leaning down to kiss Merlin’s neck as he quickens his thrusts. 

 

Gwen and George come over on Arthur’s final day of holiday for Sunday lunch to celebrate their engagement. After champagne and hearty congratulations, Merlin and Arthur leave their guests to play with their children whilst they finish making lunch in the kitchen. They’ve been gone a while when Clary loses interest in the wooden spoon he’s been enthusiastically banging on the floor and notices their absence, face crumpling in distress and worry. His daddies mean _SafeWarmHappy_ in his little mind, and he’s an affectionate baby boy who likes hips and arms and laps. “Babbababbabah?” he anxiously murmurs to Gwen, and she shushes him and goes to the kitchen to relieve one of his parents so the other can return to their children. She stops dead on entering the kitchen, however. Merlin is pinned against the fridge, head back, eyes closed, Arthur on his knees reverently and hungrily sucking him, Merlin whispering “ _Arthur!”_ in a scandalised voice that makes Arthur chuckle and suck him harder. Gwen covers her mouth in shock and steps back into the shadows of the hallway feeling guilty and embarrassed but equally compelled to watch their display of ardent passion, more than a little turned-on, wondering what it must be like to have such uncontrollable desire for another human. And seeing Arthur so … tender … full of worship … is … _strange_. She never thinks of Arthur as being the one to fall to his knees. Everything about him is strong and controlled and dominating and masculine. She supposes that Merlin has a quiet strength about him too though, and he certainly brings out the soft side of Arthur. She’s so mesmerised by the sight, by the glint of Arthur’s gold wedding ring pressing a bruise into Merlin’s hip as he holds him still, that she doesn’t notice Eva padding past her into the room and by the time she sees the toddler standing barefoot and fluffy-haired staring at her daddies _doing that thing they do again_ it’s too late to grab her and cover her eyes. She turns around to look at Gwen curiously, as if to ask to why she’s hiding, and then continues her wobbly journey to the toy basket to retrieve a blue bear, padding out of the kitchen totally unperturbed. Gwen wonders how many times Eva must have seen her daddies in these _scenarios_ to be so uninterested and unfazed by their behaviour. Eva, for her part, doesn’t understand why Auntie Gwen is hiding whilst Daddy and Papa play with each other. 

Once everyone is seated at the table and Merlin has finished bustling to and from the kitchen with serving bowls, Gwen watches him and Arthur for any signs of awkwardness, given their intimate semi-Public antics just a few moments ago, but there’s nothing uncomfortable between them, no blushes, no avoided eye-contact. Arthur’s got Clary tucked under his arm and is kissing his nose to make him smile and shake his dark head in delighted excitement, waving arms and grabby hands and curling feet animated too, looking up at Arthur with unwavering trust and adoration in his eyes - Merlin’s eyes - and Eva is on his other knee, held close to her Papa, leaning down to kiss Clary’s feet and make him gurgle even more with baby laughter. Merlin puts down a casserole dish and looks at Arthur. 

“You can’t eat with them both on your lap! Shall I take one? Or … Eva, sweetheart, do you want to sit in your special grown-up high chair?” Eva nods and holds out her arms to Merlin, who seats her like a princess at the head of the table. “Arthur cooked,” Merlin says then, settling down to spoon food onto plates, “I’m on holiday from the kitchen whilst Arthur’s not at work.” He looks up and smiles at Arthur then, one of their tender secret smiles, and Gwen looks away like she’s caught them in a private act, somehow more personal than Arthur wrapped around Merlin’s cock. 

 *

Arthur’s return to Parliament is not an easy one. The opposition is calling for an election to leave the EU and the far right is calling for a bill to revoke the act passed to allow gay marriage stating it’s “unholiness” and “unnaturalness” in a Church of England country, its “perversion” of the British family. Arthur, as the only married gay MP, is under the spotlight. Christian’s only been in place for six weeks and already it feels like the party is being battered from every side on every possible issue. Everyone wants change for the sake of change. Merlin’s spending more time in London with Clary and Eva so that Arthur has moral support, but Arthur can see the toll it takes on him, being in such a small flat, without a garden, trying to establish a second family life in the city, a radically different proposition from their organic, easy-paced provincial livelihood at home. He gets home to the Pimlico flat at 11pm one Tuesday after a late night preparing for the upcoming televised debates to find Merlin panting bottom up on a yoga mat in the middle of the sitting room floor. He studies him casually.

“What are you doing?” he says by way of greeting. Merlin huffs at him from upside down. 

“I’m doing yoga, Arthur,” he replies shortly. 

“ _Why_ are you doing yoga?” Arthur amends amiably. 

“I’m finding my calm,” Merlin replies, stretching further into his position and looking like an arched cat. Arthur winces in sympathy for his calves. 

“Where did you lose it?” he jokes. Merlin slowly lowers himself to sit back on his heels and twists around to face Arthur. 

“Eva had a tantrum in Sainsburys because I wouldn’t buy her new crayons. Clary had a tantrum because Eva was having a tantrum and also because he’s teething. Mum’s not well again, and thinks she’s probably getting arthritis. I have been a house-husband for two years and today I miss having a job and a life of my own. My husband has become a phantom of the night and I miss hanging out with him. Gwen and George have called off their engagement because Gwen saw Lance to tell him and ending up sleeping with him, the _idiot_. Lauren and Lance have also now broken up. Gwen is very confused about what this means. I found another grey hair. My calm has run blindly into a labyrinth ON FIRE, Arthur, and may never be found again.” Merlin’s voice has been getting steadily louder and Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“Right.” he says uncertainly. He points to Merlin’s feet. “Did you know you have a unicorn sticker stuck to your toe?” Merlin peers down at his decorated foot and then groans and flops down onto his yoga mat. Arthur walks over and sits by Merlin’s feet, still in his suit, pulling the offending foot into his lap.

“It’s nice,” he says, inspecting the sticker more closely. Merlin huffs again with his eyes closed. “ _Brilliant_ ,” he mutters darkly. Arthur peels off the sticker and carefully sticks it to the corner of Merlin’s yoga mat, and then starts to rub his thumbs soothingly into the ball of his foot. “I’m sorry about your mum. Dad mentioned that he’s arranged for her to see a specialist though, so she’s in good hands. Gwen and Lance are grown-ups and their drama is not _your_ drama. Children will be children. And _you_ , Mr stressy-pants, can go back to work whenever you want to, you know that right?” Arthur looks at him seriously. “I don’t expect you to stay at home; I’m grateful and I think you’re brilliant for doing it, of course, but I think you’re brilliant whatever you do and I want you to be happy. So whatever you want to do, I’m on your team.” Arthur pauses and leans down to kiss his ankle. “On the matter of grey hairs, I think I’ve demonstrated exactly _how_ sexy I find it on numerous previous occasions, normally resulting in a large amount of semen. And on the matter of your absentee husband, I can assure you on excellent authority that he misses you too, and is seriously re-thinking his career in politics. He’s been thinking that management consultancy or crisis management might be a better option. Or, preferably, retirement.” Merlin rolls himself upright immediately and looks at Arthur.

“You want to leave Parliament!?” he asks incredulously. Arthur sighs and looks at his feet and shrugs. 

“Maybe. I’m not sure I find it fun anymore. I don’t like what it does to me and my relationship with my family.” Merlin takes his hands.

“Arthur, I’m tired and in a bad mood, I’m sorry. I don’t mind you being a phantom. What you’re doing is important. I’d never ask you to give it up.” Arthur smiles at him softly.

“I know Merls, and you’re not. It’s just something I’m thinking about more and more.” Merlin leans his head onto Arthur’s shoulder.

“I think you’re brilliant whatever you do too Arthur, and I want you to be happy. So whatever you decide, I’m on your team.” 

“I know,” Arthur says, pressing a tender kiss to Merlin’s temple. He lifts Merlin’s chin with his finger. “So … do you want to keep on with this yoga malarkey or shall we watch Vampire Diaries together in bed and eat Eva’s rainbow marshmallow swirls?” Merlin huffs out a laugh.

“That has _got_ to be the gayest thing you’ve ever suggested,” he snorts delightedly. Arthur grins and in a swift move presses him back onto the yoga mat, pinning him down with his weight.

“I can think of _much_ gayer things,” he murmurs into Merlin’s ear, rolling his hips against Merlin’s. Merlin giggles and swats him away. 

“No horseplay tonight, I’m too tired. I’ll get the marshmallows and the iced-gems whilst you put on your big-boy pjs.” Arthur doesn’t move. “Um, Arthur?” 

“Now that I’m down here I don’t want to move,” he says, snuggling into Merlin and getting more comfortable. Merlin swats him again.

“Arthur.” Arthur doesn’t respond. “ARTHUR!!!” 

* 

Arthur decides that his political career and new role as a Cabinet Minister isn’t fair on his family, especially Merlin, and it’s not making any of them happy, so six months into Christian Falmouth’s first term as PM, Arthur resigns. He takes a local job as the CEO of a small Oxford-based charity called Oasis, dedicated to eradicating adolescent homelessness in the county. Part of the initiative - as well as offering food and shelter - is to offer the youths that have fallen through the cracks a second chance at education, the opportunity to get their qualifications, job application support, therapy; most of these young boys and girls come from sexually and physically abusive homes, particularly if they’re gay. Arthur loves his job again - this is _real_ social service. He enjoys having direct ownership of strategy, operational control, decisions, and seeing the immediate impact that his work has on the lives of others. And, crucially, it’s only a twenty minute drive from home. He eats breakfast with Merlin and Eva and Clary and leaves at 8.30, he sometimes comes home for lunch, he’s home by 5.30 every night, even if he brings work home with him from time to time, and in time for supper (he and Merlin now take turns to cook again each night) and story time and bath time and bedtime and quality husband time. AND he works from home at least one day each week to give Merlin a day off. His family is blooming again. 

Arthur closes the front door quietly and slips off his shoes. It’s five o’clock on a Friday night and he’s home early; a blizzard is forecast and the lanes around their village are treacherous in the ice and snow - best to leave before the weather sets in and he gets stuck in Oxford for the weekend. Pausing at the kitchen door, he takes in the cheerful, cosy, domestic idyll in front of him. Eva is sitting on a rug in front of the fire next to Clary, carefully showing him how to build bricks and put doughnuts on a ring and piece jigsaw animals together. Clary is watching her adoringly, beaming every time she finishes a puzzle, face and fingers covered in mushed teething rusk. Merlin has his back to the door but is humming a Christmas carol under his breath as he puts fish fingers in the oven. Arthur walks up behind him and slides his arms around his waist.

“You are _gorgeous_ ,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear, putting the bouquet of cala lilies down in front of Merlin and then kissing his neck, inhaling the smell of home. Merlin rests his head back on Arthur’s shoulder and smiles.

“Flowers?” he murmurs, running his nose along Arthur’s jawline, “What did you do wrong this time? Have you ‘accidentally’ invited your entire office for supper again?” Arthur snorts. That had been _really_ embarrassing. 

“I merely wanted to buy my ungrateful husband flowers,” he retorts, turning Merlin round to say hello properly, fingers immediately searching for warm skin beneath the Fair Isle reindeer jumper. Arthur shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Really Merlin? Light of my life. Carols _and_ Christmas jumpers? You can’t possibly be in the mood again already, we’ve only just taken the bloody tree down!” Merlin looks down at himself a little ruefully.

“I think its the arrival of snow,” he reasons, “it’s made everything all wintry and magical again. Look!” He points at the baking stand. “We even made gingerbread snowmen!” Merlin looks so delighted and happy that Arthur can’t resist trying one, biting off its head. Arthur makes appreciative noises and then smiles wryly at Merlin. 

“This is great head,” he says, deadpan. Merlin laughs and then schools his face into a stern expression, hands on hips.

“Not before the watershed, Arthur. And it’s very rude of you to decapitate the leader of my biscuit family.” Arthur looks down at the biscuit man’s clumpy white icing; Eva’s handiwork. 

“To be fair, he’s pretty scruffy for a leader, isn’t he? I think he deserved his inglorious end.” Merlin narrows his eyes.

“Don’t make me come over there to defend my clan, Pendragon.” Arthur smirks and leans back against the counter. 

“Where would you prefer to come?” he enquires politely, eyebrow raised. Merlin buries his face in his hands. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbles as if pained, “it’s like you just discovered innuendo for the first time.” Arthur pulls Merlin towards him and his fingers find their way under his shirt, thumbs slowly circling his nipples. Merlin groans and closes his eyes, head resting on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur leans down to whisper in his ear.

“My question still stands, husband?” Merlin gasps as Arthur begins to suck softly at his neck, arching towards him.

“Sitting room, after our little imps are in bed. Don’t make me burn their fish fingers,” Merlin pleads, and Arthur steps away, kissing his temple. 

“Laters baby,” he says with a wink as he leaves the kitchen to get changed out of his work gear. He feels a foot kicking him in the bum and laughs.

 

Later that night, they’re lying on a rug in the sitting room in front of the fire, naked, shadows and light dancing across their skin, stroking each other, holding each other, looking at each other warmly. 

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have sex with a woman?” Merlin suddenly asks, rolling over to lie on top of Arthur. Arthur’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Where on _earth_ did that -”

“Just answer the question Arthur,” Merlin interrupts impatiently, swatting his chest. Arthur looks at Merlin like he’s grown two heads, and thinks about it for all of a nanosecond before wrinkling up his nose distastefully. 

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head and pressing his forehead to Merlin’s.

“What about another man?” Merlin persists. Arthur rolls his eyes in his trademark _you’re an idiot_ look.

“No. _You_ are the only human form I’ve ever wanted physically or otherwise.” He looks at Merlin seriously, and Merlin kisses the tip of his nose. “Now tell me why?” Arthur prompts, putting an arm behind his head. “Are you having a mid-life crisis already? Are you going to tell me you need space to explore your sexuality and find yourself or something?” Merlin snorts derisively and cuddles Arthur. 

“Don’t be a clotpole. There’s no need; I’ve never been lost, have I? We found ourselves in each other when we were just babies.” Arthur tightens his hold, stroking Merlin’s hair, relief flooding through his veins.

“So why are you thinking about sleeping with other men and women then?” Arthur asks petulantly, sounding a little wounded. Merlin kicks his shin lightly.

“Hey, none of that. I’ve never wondered - or wanted anyone else - either, as well you know. I just realised recently how weird that is. Never to have been tempted. Never to have questioned. Gwen and Lance are engaged … but they’ve had to lose each other and try other people to realise that without each other something is missing. How is it that we have that knowledge without the experience?” Arthur presses his lips to Merlin’s, kissing him sweetly, softly.

“You think too much,” he chides, rolling Merlin onto his side and pulling him into a spooning position, back against Arthur’s chest, bending his knee up and forwards to reveal his wet, used entrance, gently circling Merlin’s come-filled hole with a finger before positioning his cock and easily pushing inside, needing to be close to Merlin again, part of him, and Merlin pushes back into his embrace, slowly fucking himself on Arthur’s cock. They move together lazily, take what they need from each other, worshipping and comforting each other’s bodies, asserting mutual ownership, enjoying their belonging. 


	9. Chapter 9

Towards the end of January they have Percy and Meg and Gwaine and Elena to stay for the weekend. The girls and Percy have gone for a walk, leaving Merlin cooking roast lunch with Gwaine and Arthur painting with Eva at the table, Clary fast asleep on his shoulder. She pats Arthur’s arm and points to her picture to show him her finished work. There’s a stick Merlin (black hair), a stick Arthur (yellow hair), a stick Eva (blob with yellow hair) and a stick Clary (blob with black hair).

“It’s very good bean,” Arthur says, kissing Eva on the head. “Is this one daddy?” he asks, pointing at stick-Merlin. Eva nods. “I think he needs a bit of grey, doesn’t he?” Arthur comments, mixing a little black and white paint together and giving the brush to Eva. She enthusiastically puts a large grey dollop on the side of Merlin’s head.

“Oi!” Merlin calls over to them crossly. “I can see what you’re both doing!”

“Are those big ears of yours flapping about again?” Arthur says innocently, adding a bit of grey to the other side of his head. Merlin appears behind him, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Is this one papa?” Merlin enquires, eyes flashing dangerously, pointing at stick-Arthur. Eva looks up at him cautiously, nervously glancing at Arthur.

“Yes. Dis is pappap.” she says uncertainly, tentatively using her ever-increasing vocabulary and patting the paper, getting paint on her hands.

“He’s a bit wider than daddy round the middle, isn’t he?” Merlin sniffs, picking up a brush of his own and drawing a big round circle somewhere around stick-Arthur’s tummy. Arthur pouts.

“I am NOT fat!” he objects loudly, looking to Gwaine for support. “Fighting fit, aren’t I Gwaine?” Gwaine looks over at him and holds up his hands.

“Not getting involved. Merlin hits harder than you do.” Merlin smiles sweetly and returns to his chopping board. Arthur scowls.

“Traitor,” he mutters, and sees Eva looking up at him quizzically.

“Tater?” she asks carefully, forehead furrowed in confusion. Merlin snorts in the background.

“Not you sweetheart,” Arthur reassures her, giving her another blank piece of paper. “How about we paint Uncle Gwaine this time? With long hair, like a girl.”

“Still jealous of my flowing locks, princess?” Gwaine grins, chopping potatoes. Arthur pointedly gags and ignores him, painting a pink dress for Gwaine, who declares  _Oooh that is lovely!_  in the background.

 

They’re just sitting down to lunch when Clary wakes up flushed with heat and disoriented and crying with heart-wrenching misery. He cries steadily for  _hours_ , clinging to Arthur and Merlin in turns, long past food, long after their guests have gone home, long after Arthur has bathed and read a story to Eva and put her to bed. He leaves her room to find Merlin lying on the floor of the sitting room with Clary on his chest, lying on his tummy, whimpering sadly into Merlin’s shirt. Merlin’s eyes are closed and he’s gently stroking Clary’s hair, soothing his back. Arthur lies down next to him and Clary raises his head, looking at Arthur through his tears and anguished face, sniffling unhappily. Arthur uses the soft pad of his thumb to stroke his face.

“ _Bear_ ,” he whispers quietly, worriedly. “Have you given him Calpol?” Arthur asks, turning his attention Merlin.

“Yes Arthur,” Merlin says, still lying still with his eyes closed.

“Isn’t that supposed to kill baby pain? Is it his teeth?” Merlin keeps stroking Clary’s head, rubbing his back, and shrugs.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s colic? I don’t know, do I, he can’t talk to us.”

“Should I call a doctor?” Merlin shakes his head tiredly.

“He hasn’t got a fever, he doesn’t have a rash. He’s just woken up feeling poorly and worked himself into a tantrum; he needs to calm down.” Arthur looks at his boys helplessly and then leaves the room to run a hot bath. Whilst the water is cooling to baby-friendly temperatures, he makes Clary a bottle of black tea with lots and lots of sugar and a dash of brandy, an ‘upset baby failsafe remedy’ he’d read about somewhere. Pouring himself and Merlin a couple of fingers of brandy too, he takes the drinks to their bathroom, and then returns to the sitting room and gently lifts a sobbing Clary from Merlin’s wet front. Merlin opens his eyes and Arthur sees the worry and exhaustion there. He offers Merlin his hand.

“Come on sweetheart, come and have a bath with us.” Merlin allows himself to be lifted up, and soon Arthur is climbing into the hot water, cradling Clary close to his chest and allowing the warmth to lap over his baby, who pauses his crying to look up at Arthur in surprise, little hand reaching out for Arthur’s skin, and Arthur smiles and gives him his ‘special’ bottle, which Clary dutifully latches onto without removing his gaze from Arthur’s face, small palm clutching Arthur’s chest. Arthur keeps eye contact until Clary feels safe and reassured and closes his eyes to drink, secure in his father’s arms, soothed by the water around him. Merlin has been watching from the floor of the bathroom but now that Clary is settling he strips and climbs into the bath opposite Arthur and his son, Arthur’s legs bracketing his narrow body. He leans back and closes his eyes, mindlessly stroking Arthur’s strong calves.

“How nice is silence?” he asks listlessly. Arthur nudges him with his foot.

“Drink your brandy Merls. I’m putting you to bed as soon as I’m done with this tiny man.” Merlin opens his eyes and downs his brandy in one go. Arthur begins to hum and feels the tension ease from Merlin into the water, until he is in fact, fast asleep. Clary seems to be drifting off as well, so Arthur raises himself out of the bath and wraps Clary in a towel, carefully drying him and putting on his nappy and romper suit before settling him in his crib. He opens his eyes, briefly worried, but closes them as soon as he sees Arthur watching over him. Arthur can’t believe he’s eighteen months old already; and Eva nearly three and a half and due to start playschool later this year. Time flies. Heading back into the bathroom he wakes his husband and lifts him out of the water too, briskly rubbing him down with a towel and then tucking him into their bed, still naked. Arthur slides in behind him and presses their skin together, arms circling Merlin and pulling him tightly against Arthur’s chest.

“Is he ‘kay?” Merlin mumbles into his pillow.

“Fast asleep, I’ll do baby monitor duty tonight, you need to rest.”

“‘m fine,” Merlin says, yawning, “just sleepy.” Arthur kisses Merlin’s temple, his neck, hears Merlin’s barely audible groan of  _want_  - always responding to Arthur, however exhausted - and he smiles, sliding his tongue down Merlin’s spine and his hands down Merlin’s front, caressing his nipples, his taut stomach, until he reaches the delicious curve of Merlin’s arse, which he peels open to kiss Merlin’s hole, laving at it, working his tongue inside, licking him out. Merlin’s face is in his pillow, hands clutching the sheets, but he’s shaking, hard, pushing back against Arthur, and Arthur moves him on to his back so he can crawl between Merlin’s thighs and take his cock into his mouth, sucking at him soothingly, massaging the tense muscles in Merlin’s upper thighs, massaging his buttocks and pressing his groin further into Arthur’s face and mouth. Merlin’s eyes are closed and his hands are on Arthur’s shoulders, legs open for Arthur. Arthur unscrews the tube of lube under his pillow and slicks up his fingers, all the while blowing Merlin, and then slides his fingers inside his husband until Merlin tenses beneath him and gasps, arching; he’s found his prostate. He keeps massaging the nub and deep-throating Merlin, hearing his moaning getting louder and louder until his body tenses and he shudders his hot sweet release down Arthur’s thirsty throat. Arthur crawls back up his body and slides his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, carding fingers through his damp hair, and slicks up his cock, manoeuvring a pillow under Merlin’s lower back so he can push inside him. Merlin is boneless beneath him, eyes closed, body heavy, but he offers his body to Arthur to use for his pleasure, tilting his hips upwards a little, pressing his feet into Arthur’s firm, muscled arse. Arthur grips Merlin’s legs as he fucks in and out of him slowly, pressing kisses to his shoulders, his collarbone, his ears, his eyelids as he takes him, gazes at his husband’s lean torso, the soft cock flopping onto his stomach, the thatch of dark pubic hair, the skinny thighs, and feeling suddenly like he needs  _more_ , he flips Merlin onto his belly and then thrusts back inside him, fucking him hard and fast, Merlin using his hands to push himself away from the headboard he’s being pounded into. Arthur starts hitting Merlin’s prostate on every in thrust and soon Merlin is crying out again, hard cock pinned to the bed by Arthur’s weight, and he tries to push back against Arthur, to gain some relief, but Arthur whispers into his ear, “Not this time Merls. Come without anything else for me baby, come from me fucking you,” and Merlin growls in frustration, the agony of pleasure, as his open channel is used again and again and again, his body ruthlessly claimed, crying from his need to come before a body-splitting entry from Arthur hits his prostrate just right and his body bursts into stars, gold light flashing beneath his eyelids, cock pumping liquid into the bedsheets beneath him, feeling the damp spread, and then Arthur biting his shoulder hard enough to draw blood as he pumps himself dry, filling Merlin with his seed. Arthur stays on Merlin’s back for a while, catching his breath, and then slips out and rolls to his side, pulling Merlin against him again, twining their legs together.

“That was  _amazing_ ,” he gloats, nuzzling Merlin’s hair, “God, I love you Merls. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I -” Merlin twists around in Arthur’s embrace and takes Arthur’s face in his hands, crashing their lips together, passionately tangling himself as close as possible to his lover.

“I love you too,” he whispers back, “I want you, I need you, I’m hard for you, you’re my best friend and my favourite person and I love you.” He kisses Arthur again, tongue lazily sweeping over Arthur’s, and then curls into his side, head over Arthur’s heart, mumbling into his chest. “And now I have to go to sleep before I pass out. You have full permission to do kinky things to me whilst I’m unconscious.” Arthur grins and kisses his husband, leaning over to switch out the light.

“Sleep, love, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmurs to Merlin, stroking his back until he feels Merlin’s breathing settle into the soothing rhythm of slumber.

 

Arthur’s not sure if Clary passed out because he was drunk on brandy, or finally exhausted and soothed, but to his amazement, his son slept through till morning.

*

Two weeks later Arthur slides onto the bed beside Merlin, who is reading a play.

“So I did something,” he says cautiously, crossing his legs and studying Merlin apprehensively. It’s a testament to the strength of their relationship that Merlin doesn’t panic or overreact or even blink, in fact; he puts the book down and takes off his glasses (a new thing; sexy as hell, Arthur thinks), looking at Arthur quizzically, trying to gauge his mood.

“You’re worried I’m going to disapprove,” he guesses.

“I don’t think you’ll  _disapprove_ , exactly,” Arthur says slowly, “I just don’t know if you’ll  _like_  it.” Merlin assesses him again.

“Is it important to you?” Arthur nods. “Then you know I will,” he says simply.

“Don’t mock me, okay?” Arthur says. Merlin nods dutifully and crosses his heart and sits forward. Arthur stands up and unbuttons his trousers. Merlins eyebrows shoot into his hair.

“Um, now I’m worried,” he says, making a face. “Oh  _god_ ,” he whispers, wincing, “please tell me that you didn’t get a cock ring?” Arthur stares at him.

“I didn’t get a cock ring,” he replies flatly. “I said I did  _something_ , you utter baboon, not that I mutilated the best part of my body!” Merlin sighs in relief and Arthur smirks. “Although you did say if it was important to me …”

“Shut up Arthur,” Merlin orders, relaxing again and waggling his hands at Arthur’s trousers impatiently. “I want to see.” Arthur obligingly drops his trousers and climbs back onto the bed, showing Merlin his right inner thigh. There’s a reddened area of skin with a freshly inked tattoo … a family crest with A&M entwined at the top of the shield with a latin inscription scrolling underneath …   _Eis quos amo._   _Aeternum tua …_  followed by three words stacked in a column  _Love, Bean, Bear._ Merlin gazes at it and runs a finger softly over the inflamed skin.

“Our nicknames,” he says, looking at Arthur - he’s Love, Eva is (Jelly) Bean, Clary is (Little) Bear. Arthur nods. Merlin’s finger traces the latin words. “What do these mean?” he asks.

“For those that I love. Yours forever.” Merlin’s face softens and he leans down to kiss Arthur’s thigh. “I put it there so no-one would see it but you,” Arthur adds uncertainly. Merlin climbs into his lap.

“It’s perfect,” he says quietly, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. “I love it.”

“Really?” Arthur asks, sliding his arms around Merlin too. Merlin nods firmly.

“Really. I should get one too. Except my nickname for you is Clotpole, and that’s going to work considerably  _less_  well, you know,” he wiggles his fingers, “ _aesthetically_.”

“ _Idiot_ ,” Arthur huffs, draping his discarded trousers over Merlin’s head crossly. Merlin shakes himself until they slide off and grins broadly at Arthur, who can’t resist kissing him deeply. “Which play are you reading?” Arthur eventually asks, looking over at the discarded book.

“The Deep Blue Sea,” Merlin says, climbing back to his side of the bed and putting his glasses back on, black square rimmed and striking against his Michael Jackson  _Thriller_  t-shirt and dark messy hair. Arthur’s cock hardens. He puts a hand on Merlin’s knee.

“We haven’t been to the theatre for ages, have we?” he says, lightly stroking Merlin’s leg. “Shall we get dad and your mum down to babysit so we can have a date night in London? Go for dinner, watch a play, maybe find a bar afterwards? Back to the flat for a sex and/or crap TV series marathon? I miss having time where we talk about Us things rather than Family things. And I want you to tell me all about the  _thing_  I know you’ve secretly been working on.” Merlin looks surprised; Arthur rolls his eyes dramatically. “Seriously Merls, I’ve lived with you for over three decades. You think I don’t notice when you’re in one of your project zones?” Merlin smiles, lowering his lashes in a way that Arthur still finds utterly devastating.

“It’s not a project, it’s just a new hobby. I’ve been thinking about getting involved at the Eagle Youth Theatre a couple of days a week, help with writing and directing plays, producing music, fundraising, whatever support they need, really …” he looks down at his lap, fumbling with the corner of his book, “… I don’t want to work properly until Eva and Clary are at school full-time, but I need to do  _something_  outside our bubble. You’re doing so much good at Oasis, and I feel like I’m a bit static in comparison. I want to do something for the community too. I feel like I’m getting boring.” He pokes Arthur’s thigh with his big toe. “Am I getting boring?” Arthur shakes his head, pulling Merlin’s foot into his lap and rubbing its delicate arch, his ankle.

“You’re raising our mad, happy children,” he says easily, endlessly fond. “You’re the unequivocal head of this household - your amazing creativity has worked its way into brilliant interior design, you plan our menus, you manage our social lives, you support me more than you realise when I need a soundboard for projects at work. You surprise me every day with your odd experiments; who else has ever - in the history of the  _universe_  -” Arthur stops and raises a meaningful eyebrow, “- thought of making marmite brownies?” Merlin snorts. “It was inspired. Disgusting, but inspired. As was the lego dildo you felt compelled to build. And the purple wall you randomly painted in our herb garden. You dance in the shower to 80s soft rock  _every_ morning, which I’m fairly certain no-one else in England has done since the  _actual_  80s, and even then it was just the New Romantics who were PAID to do it professionally. You can make me hard just by walking into the room and no matter how much time I spend with you,” Arthur pauses to stare at Merlin seriously, earnestly, continuing more quietly, “I never feel like it’s enough.” He looks down at Merlin’s foot and smiles, shrugging. “I’m fascinated by you Merls, always have been, ever since you were a tiny blob gurgling at me from your basket, and my sole purpose in life was making you laugh and keeping you safe. Not much has changed since then, admittedly, except now I also want to make you come a lot, which would have been incredibly inappropriate when we were four and three.” Arthur grins lasciviously at Merlin. “So in answer to your - quite frankly  _ridiculous_ question - No, you are most certainly not boring. You are extraordinary.” Arthur gazes at Merlin with soft reverence and Merlin brushes away the tears from his eyes, cock now straining against his cotton briefs.

“Arthur,” he murmurs, reaching for Arthur’s fingers and squeezing them. Arthur takes his hand and leans over and kisses him, savouring the softness of his lips, the wetness as he parts them and flicks out his tongue, the damp on his cheeks, the subtle hitch in his breath, carding his hands through Arthur’s hair, eyes closed. All these things and more Arthur  _feels_  as he crawls over Merlin and lowers him gently onto the bed, taking off his glasses and putting them on the bedside table, sliding off his boxers, rolling him onto his belly, where he rests his head on his arm and closes his eyes, and then Arthur slides down, pushing up his black t-shirt so his lower back is exposed, and kissing the skin there, kissing the curve of his back, the soft cheeks of his bottom, the curve as perfectly round globes meet lean thighs, and Arthur licks every inch of skin, pushes Merlin’s legs open, and buries his head between his thighs, sucking his hole and stroking Merlin’s legs, his back. Merlin is gasping softly into his elbow, rutting gently against the sheets, patiently waiting for Arthur to look after him. Arthur peels away to take off his own boxers, his shirt, and then sits up with his back to the headboard, pulling Merlin up to sit in his lap, legs around his waist. Face to face they makeout (giggling all the while), like teenagers, whilst Arthur opens Merlin up, sliding slicked-up fingers in and out of his lover’s hole, and then he’s pressing himself inside, rocking against Merlin softly, slowly, Merlin matching his rhythm, connected physically and emotionally, intimately close, open to each other, vulnerable, their love flowing between and around them, enjoying the act of  _joining_ ,  _mating_ , animals seeking comfort from each other on the most basic level, and Arthur leans back against the headboard and takes in the sight of his husband’s parted lips, flushed cheeks, dark messy hair, long, pale limbs, pink, glistening cock, shiny hole opening for him, body taking him in, and he feels tears welling in his own eyes. Whatever this bond is between them, this thing that has always been there, from the very beginning, Arthur knows it’s the most precious and special gift of his life, and he pushes in harder, buries himself hilt-deep in his lover and releases himself, loosely pumping Merlin until he’s spurting hot seed onto Arthur’s belly.

“I love you so much,” Merlin says quietly, forehead pressed to Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re extraordinary too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Arthur joshes with typical arrogance, smiling against Merlin’s hair. “And I love  _you_ ,” he replies, nuzzling Merlin’s neck and pulling Merlin down to lie on top of him, drawing the covers around them like a feathery cocoon. “AND I think getting involved in the local theatre is a fantastic idea, you’ll be amazing. I’ll be your groupie standing by the stage door each night with a dorky backpack full of pictures for you to sign.”

“I’ve always wanted to shag a groupie,” Merlin beams cheerfully. Arthur nudges his nose to Merlin’s temple.

“So yes to a weekend away in London?” he says coaxingly, “Or Paris? Or Rome, we haven’t been back since we were at uni?”

“ _Rome_ ,” Merlin mumbles happily, snuggling against Arthur’s warm skin, “yes yes yes.”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Arthur remarks drily, theatrically arching and throwing his head back, and Merlin laughs. “On a separate matter,” Arthur says gravely, “you have to help me plan Lance’s stag do.” Merlin nips his shoulder.

“Your pillow talk needs work my friend,” he chides, wriggling as Arthur rubs his bottom. He pulls back to look at his face. “You  _cannot_  be ready for round two already!?” he gapes disbelievingly. Arthur shrugs.

“I want you inside me this time,” he says softly, and Merlin sighs as his cock immediately twitches in interest, feeling betrayed by his body’s insatiable appetite for Arthur, and amused as always by his unapologetically demanding (but absolutely glorious) lover.

“Yes  _sire_ ,” he huffs dramatically, melting into a smile as Arthur kisses him again.

 *

In March, Merlin starts working at the Eagle Youth Theatre three afternoons a week and a Saturday morning, and Arthur works from home around his schedule. As soon as he’d expressed his interest in the organisation he’d been eagerly invited to be a board member and was made Finance Director too, given his banking background and economics degree. Arthur could tell he was enjoying it, enjoying the fresh challenge, life outside of the family, but he also saw the toll it was taking on Merlin, trying to split himself in too many directions, and missing being the centre of his children’s world.

 

He traipsed through the door looking dejected and wet one rainy Spring evening to find Arthur covered in flour in the kitchen; Clary sitting in just a nappy on the kitchen island carefully grabbing handfuls of flour from a spilt bag on the surface and attempting to put it back in, creating a small cloud around himself, and coughing and blinking before reaching for another handful. Eva was eying them both warily from her place at the toy kitchen in the corner.

“Redecorating?” Merlin asked mildly, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table.

“Making macadamia and salted caramel brownies,” Arthur said proudly, picking up Clary, who pointed down at the pile of flour with wide eyes as if to say  _Daddy! I haven’t finished yet!_ and walking over to Merlin. He examined his face closely. “Are you sick?” he asked, putting a hand on Merlin’s clammy forehead. He took in Merlin’s slightly watery eyes and red nose.

“Touch of man-flu, I’ll be fine after I’ve had some food,” Merlin replied, holding out his arms for his floury baby and snuggling him close and whispering to him, “Hello there, little bear, having you been cooking yummy things with Papa? You look like a snowman.” Clary peered down at himself forlornly.

“Uh oh,” he exclaimed with big eyes, attempting to brush off the flour with chubby hands and then shaking his head when his efforts failed. Merlin kissed the soft back of his neck, inhaling his scent, and hugging him more tightly.

“Sofa,” Arthur commanded, lifting Merlin by the elbow and seating him firmly on the kitchen couch, kneeling to pull off his shoes and make him comfortable. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at Merlin sternly, “I’ll pop to the chemist to get some supplies before we have supper. Eva,” he called, turning his attention to his daughter, “Daddy’s not well, don’t let him get up until Papa gets back, okay?” Eva nodded and picked up a book, running across to the sofa and climbing up to sit beside Merlin. Merlin heard the front door close.

“Okay,” he said, clambering up wearily and putting Clary beside his sister on the cushions, “Daddy’s going to make some tea, who wants some?”

“No!” Eva said crossly, standing up and pointing down at the sofa imperiously. “Sit down Daddy.” Merlin took in her serious, no-nonsense expression, so at odds with her angelic, golden-haired beauty and sweet little pink dungarees and frilly-socked feet.

“You are  _so_  like your father,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes, but dutifully sitting back down and letting his head rest against the back of the sofa, eyes closing. He really was feeling achey and gross. He felt Eva pulling the rug over his lap and standing up to carefully stroke his hair and kiss his cheek, before sitting down cross-legged next to him and reading aloud her book about the princess and the frog (she couldn’t actually read but knew the story so well she could almost recite it page for page). Clary sat looking at the pictures and pointing at all the animals.

“Fog,” he said, clasping his hands and looking at Eva.

“Yes, it’s a frog,” Eva confirmed, nodding, and making the  _ribbet ribbet_ croaking noises to make Clary laugh. Merlin smiled at Eva’s big-sisterly behaviour and Clary’s happy subservience; their dynamic was so like Arthur’s and his own when they were toddlers. Maybe it was genetic?

Merlin must have dropped off because next thing he knew Arthur was putting a hot water bottle in his lap and a hot toddy and slice of warm brownie on the coffee table in front of him, upending a bag of throat sweets, aspirin, vix rub, nasal spray, eye drops, packs of tissues … Merlin snorted.

“Any opportunity to overreact,” he muttered fondly, “you just can’t help yourself, can you?” Arthur plonked himself beside Merlin with another plate of brownies, handing one to Clary and one to Eva, now playing on the floor.

“Drink your hot toddy,” Arthur said, nodding to the drink, and speaking around a mouthful of cake, “two dissolvable aspirin, one lemsip sachet, three shots of whisky, one juiced lemon, 2 tablespoons of medicinal manuka honey … that’ll sweat the germs out of you in an hour.” Merlin gratefully reached forward and gulped down a good third of his drink, closing his eyes in bliss.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Arthur patted his knee and stood up.

“Eat your brownie. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve finished it. I’m cooking shepherd’s pie for supper.” He ran his fingers briefly through Merlin’s soft hair before moving towards the kitchen to start cooking. Merlin smiled at his husband’s mother-henning, sipping his drink and watching his children play, relaxed for the first time since his steamy shower (being slowly caressed and kissed to release by Arthur) before breakfast.

 *

In early April, Freya and Will came to stay for a few days to catch up with Merlin and to babysit Eva and Clary one afternoon so Merlin could drag Arthur to the Easter Antiques Show in Avebury he’d been dying to go to since moving to Lymeston. Arthur waited patiently as Merlin ecstatically waded into piles of rubble to examine old gramophones, 1950s wireless radios, ornate typewriters, colourful sets of art deco champagne glasses, framed vintage advertising posters for soaps and cigarettes, Victorian fire bellows … it all looked like junk to Arthur, but he nodded enthusiastically every time Merlin emerged to show him something from another garbage pile covered in dust and grinning broadly.

“Arthur!” Merlin yelled from underneath something brown and cobwebby. Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens and gingerly stepped over a pile of newspapers and records and made his way behind the oriental screen and rugs to find Merlin crouched over a wooden chest piled high with board games, actual love hearts in his eyes.

“Find something?” Arthur asked, crouching down beside him.

“Look at this chest set!” Merlin babbled happily, picking up and handing Arthur an intricately carved chess piece; Arthur looked at the paper tag on the board … “Aztec style chess board (Mayan vs. Conquistador), Mexico c. 1971, handmade from volcanic rock and wood”.

“Very nice,” Arthur said agreeably, handing the American Indian-styled pawn back to Merlin.

“We absolutely  _have_  to get it Arthur!” Merlin declared decidedly, carefully putting the pieces in the draws and making to pick the whole thing up.

“But we don’t play chess?” Arthur said bemusedly. Merlin looked at him askance.

“It’s  _art_ , Arthur. We’ll put it on the sideboard in the sitting room.”

“You want to spend - ” Arthur looked again at the tag and raised his eyebrows, “ -  _three hundred pounds_  on a chessboard we never use!” Merlin put the chess set down and prodded him in the ribs, glaring menacingly.

“ _You_  spent £1,200 on a stupid ride-on lawnmower that you have never even ONCE used. At least this is worth looking at!” Arthur laughed at Merlin’s  _don’tmesswithme_ face and put his hands in Merlin’s jean pockets, shrugging.

“Okay fine, we’ll get the pretty toy then,  _Mer_ lin,” he said, grinning as Merlin pursed his lips even more.

“It’s art!” he snapped.

“The pretty toy art,” Arthur nodded, brushing a kiss to Merlin’s temple. Merlin huffed and picked up the chess set.

“It’ll go very well with the green leather wingback smoking chair over there, by the Louis XIV armoires,” Merlin muttered, clambering back over the rugs and newspapers with Arthur holding a steadying hand to his back. “Do you think we’ll get it in the back of the car if we put the seats down, or do we need to arrange for it to be delivered?” Arthur tried lifting the chair (which he  _did_ like) dubiously and shook his head.

“No it’s pretty heavy. What was the name of the guy who owns it?” he muttered quietly to Merlin, “was it Greg?” Merlin scrunched up his nose.

“Gary? Glenn?” he offered.

“Well that’s very helpful, thank you  _sweetheart_ ,” Arthur said drily, and Merlin grinned at him apologetically. Arthur shook his head and approached the grey haired man hovering in the background. “Hello again!” he said to the gentleman cheerfully, adeptly avoiding the (forgotten) name situation. “We met earlier? We’ve decided we’d like to buy the chair after all; could you deliver it to us?” Merlin smiled to himself and nuzzled Arthur’s back affectionately before wandering off to find (and pay) the woman who owned the chess board in her labyrinthian maze of wonders.

They stopped at  _Creo’s_ , a contemporary art gallery, on their way home, because Arthur wanted to get a modernist installation in bright primaries. Merlin was a much better shopping partner than Arthur, really, and happily discussed the merits of each exhibited piece as Arthur strolled around pointing out the ones he liked. 

“ _Wow_ ,” he breathed, stopping in front of a wall sized canvas swirling in blues and greens and whites with smears of gold glinting across the surface. It seemed  _moving,_ breathing, electric, eternal, mesmerising, and he felt overwhelmed by emotion. Merlin looked at his expression and took his hand, loosely entangling their fingers.

“It’s beautiful,” he agreed, nodding, “it’s like the ocean, isn’t it? Peaceful and powerful all at once.” Arthur felt bizarrely choked up as he clutched Merlin’s fingers.

“It’s like you, actually,” he murmured, enthralled, distracted by the sudden sniff next to him. “Love, are you  _crying_?” Arthur chided softly, tilting Merlin’s chin up to press a light, chaste kiss to his lips, holding him close. Merlin wiped a hand across his face and half-laughed, embarrassed.

“I’m such a girl, I know,” he said, leaning into Arthur’s side. Arthur kissed his neck.

“I don’t care what the price is,” he said decisively, pulling Merlin back towards the gallery manager, “we’re getting it for our bedroom.”

 

By the time they got home it was past Eva and Clary’s bedtime, and Merlin had texted Freya to say they’d pick up a Chinese takeaway on their way back, to save anyone from cooking later. He and Arthur parked up and walked around the house to come in through the kitchen entrance. As Arthur was putting his key in the lock, Merlin dropped the bag of food and put a hand over his mouth, looking horrified. Arthur turned around and reached out for him, alarmed.

“Merlin?” he said, puzzled.

“ _Shhhh!”_ Merlin hissed, looking completely scandalised, pointing wordlessly through the kitchen window. Freya was sitting on top of Will on a kitchen chair, kissing him and rocking against him with her skirt bunched up around her waist and … it looked like they were … but they couldn’t possibly be … Arthur stared at them, perplexed, whilst Merlin started to hyperventilate next to him.

“Are they having - ?” he began curiously, before Merlin interrupted him with his trademark squawk and a thump.

“I will  _pay_ you not to finish that sentence,” he groaned. Arthur rubbed his back soothingly. Merlin dropped to the step outside the backdoor and took off his coat and put it over his head. Arthur looked through the window and winced and then sat down beside an invisible Merlin, reminded of him hiding under a pillow when they were teenagers.

“Are you suffocating yourself?” he said conversationally.

“I’m hiding,” came Merlin’s muffled voice.

“Yes I can see that,” Arthur commented, snorting as the coat-Merlin drooped sadly. “Why are you hiding under a coat?”

“If you hide it isn’t happening, come under here and see.” Arthur lifts up Merlin’s coat and pulls it back over both their heads.

“Oh yes, I see,” he agrees in the darkness, “And this is the mystical land of where, exactly?” he asks, stroking Merlin’s calf soothingly.

“ _Camelot,_ the place over the rainbow. Where nothing bad and terribly, terribly wrong ever happens.” Arthur chuckled and slid an arm around Merlin’s body, pulling him close, leaning in to kiss Merlin’s neck, sliding his tongue up and into Merlin’s ear, using his free hand to stroke Merlin’s face, slide under his jumper to tweak a nipple, down to rub at his crotch through his jeans. He felt Merlin shudder against him, and groan.

“Is it that bad?” he whispered conspiratorially, under the cover of the magical invisibility coat.

“It’s Freya and  _Will_ , Arthur!” Merlin said hoarsely. “Will and  _Freya_!”

“Yes,” Arthur said reasonably, “two people who’ve known each other and respected and trusted each other and been friends for a decade. Seems like a pretty solid foundation for a relationship to me?”

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin whimpered, disgusted. “Will is a blokey bloke! He is the least romantic man in the universe! And Freya’s like a little fairy, she needs a Prince Charming to come along on a unicorn and sweep her away!”

“She had a Prince Charming in the form of gallant, floppy-haired Tristan … remember? And he knocked her up and ran away.” Arthur pulled the coat off their heads and put a placating hand on Merlin’s arm. “She and Will have a lot in common … he’s a sound engineer for a theatre, she’s a drama teacher. Maybe he brings the stability and grounding she needs, and she brings him the magic  _he_ needs.  _I’m_  mostly upset about our kitchen chair.” Merlin giggled and cuddled Arthur tightly.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “It’s weird and gross, but you’re right. As long as they’re happy, they deserve that.”

“You neglected to mention the fate of our poor chair,” Arthur murmured, smilingly against Merlin’s ear.

“We’ve done  _a lot_  worse on those chairs,” Merlin retorted, arching an eyebrow. “I recall you tying me to one with semen still oozing out of my arse from you pounding me into the table, whilst you sat on my lap to ride  _me,_  before coming again all over my chest and the floor and the ceiling … Nothing that a Dettol wipe won’t fix.” Arthur smirked and patted Merlin’s head.

“That’s the spirit Honey Bunny. Not so bad after all, is it?”

“Are you quoting Pulp Fiction at me,  _Pumpkin_?” Merlin asks, eyebrows waggling.

“This is some fucked-up repugnant shit,” Arthur quotes seriously, in a drawling American accent, pushing Merlin down to the ground and climbing on top of him, nosing at his neck, murmuring into his skin, “Right now, I’m a fucking race car, right, and you got me in the red … it’s fucking dangerous to have a race car in the fucking red. I could  _blow_ ,” Arthur articulates the last word slowly and feels Merlin shake with laughter beneath him, head tipping back and eyes crinkling in the way Arthur loves so much.

“Oh?” Merlin says teasingly in his own American twang, playing the game, “Oh! You ready to  _blow_?” Arthur licks his way into Merlin’s mouth and nods, already desperately hard.

“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly, “I’m ready to blow.” Arthur jumps as the door opens and Will stands above them, arms crossed, haloed by the kitchen light.

“Any of you fuckin’ pricks move and I’ll execute every motherfucking last one of you!” he shouts, grinning down at Arthur sprawled on top of an indecently flushed Merlin. “Seriously, can’t you guys go without having a bonk for more than five minutes? We’re starving in here!” Arthur jumps up, pulling Merlin to his feet.

“Says the man copulating on our KITCHEN CHAIR!” Arthur bellows with a derisive scoff, bending down to pick up the bag of Chinese takeaway. “I had to distract Merlin from his epic mental breakdown _somehow_ , didn’t I!? You can thank me later mate,” he adds sarcastically, striding into the kitchen and leaving an open-mouthed, red-faced Will staring at Merlin. Merlin shuffles self-consciously.

“It’s okay, we have Dettol wipes,” he says hurriedly, and Will bursts into hysterical laughter, Merlin joining him until they’re holding each other up and Freya’s awkwardly helping Arthur unpack dim sum dumplings and spring rolls, avoiding eye contact.

“Your skirt’s tucked up into your knickers,” Arthur says mildly, gesturing helpfully towards her back to watch her jump in horror, hands flying to her skirt. Which is fine. She narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s very funny Arthur,” she says calmly stuffing a spring roll into his mouth, which he happily munches, busy arranging duck and pancakes and hoisin sauce on a platter.

“I try,” he shrugs modestly, offering her a prawn cracker.

 

“Sooo, you two,” Arthur says to Will and Freya, when they’re eventually all sitting round the table. “Is this -” he gestures between the two of them with his chopstick, “-  _thing,_ between the two of you, something of a regular occurrence, or were you just turned on by our incredibly sexy dining chairs … which we would  _totally_ get by the way,” he says, taking a mouthful of egg fried rice, “we too have had - The Sex - many a time on that very chair.” Will chokes on his Sichuan prawn and Freya slaps him on the back. Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur and pours Will a glass of water. He eventually stops spluttering, cheeks a rather fetching shade of puce.

“Please never talk to me about your sex life again,” Will says vehemently.

“Please never  _have_  sex in front of me again,” Arthur replies coolly.

“Guys!” Freya exclaims, elbowing Will in the stomach and turning to Arthur. “Are you actually twelve?” Will mutters something that sounds suspiciously like  _He started it_. Freya sighs and looks at Arthur and Merlin. “We’ve been seeing each other for about eight months. It’s not just sex. I’m sorry about your chair and your eyes and your trauma. Will will pay for therapy, won’t you Will?”

“I will  _not_!” he objects mutinously, shaking his head. “If these two can’t handle two people in love making love when  _they_ spent most of our three years at university licking each other’s faces and wiping sperm off each other’s chins after inappropriately long trips to the gents  _in the middle of the day -”_ Arthur grins at that, disproportionately cheerful, “then frankly they can sod off to the miserable land of hypocritical assholes!” Will finished his rant and spooned in another mouthful of Sichuan and noodles. Merlin gaped at him.

“In love?” he said uncertainly, glancing at Arthur, who looked very smug and pleased with himself for being The Voice of Reason earlier. Freya smiled at Will softly, a little pink around the cheeks herself.

“He’s actually very lovely,” she says fondly, putting a hand on his knee under the table. “And he makes me happy,” she adds, unable to stop grinning, looking at Merlin imploringly, begging him to understand. Merlin looks at the pair of them a little nonplussed, before jumping up to go to the fridge.

“Okay then. Champagne,” he says over his shoulder, by way of explanation, “it’s about time you too had some good luck in the love department. I think it’s fantastic. It’s great news, isn’t it Arthur?”

“Lovely news, yes, well done,” Arthur says, clapping wryly. Merlin throws the cork at him.

“Ignore him, he’s such a  _man_  sometimes,” he says apologetically, pouring fizz for everyone.

 

They finish their takeaway amicably, catching up on news, talking about their old friends - Lance and Gwen’s surprise reunion and forthcoming nuptials, Leon’s fancy new jazz bistro in Camden, Gwaine and Elena’s pregnancy, Morgana’s amazing job in New York - and then they clear up and play Cranium for a while with another bottle of wine, ridiculing each other’s attempts at drawing and sculpting play-dough and acting (although everyone but Arthur is quite good at that bit). By 11.30 Merlin excuses himself, telling Will and Freya to make themselves at home (Arthur adds that they shouldn’t make themselves feel  _too_ at home. Again.), and they’re flicking through Netflix as Merlin and Arthur head upstairs to check on Clary and Eva before going to bed. Both are sleeping soundly, Eva cuddling her Piglet teddy, and Clary frowning worriedly, dark hair sticking to his damp forehead.

“He’s too hot,” Merlin whispers, stripping off his blanket and opening a window to let some cool air into the room. Arthur gets a wet flannel from the bathroom and gently wipes his head and face and neck. His eyelids flutter and he frets for a moment, pouting, before settling into sleep again. They leave on the starry nightlight and rainforest sleepsounds and turn on the baby monitor, tiptoeing out of the room and carefully closing the door behind them. Arthur flops onto their bed as soon as they’re in their room.

“You’ll fall asleep,” Merlin warns him, heading straight for the bathroom to brush his teeth and throw his clothes into the laundry basket. He pulls on a soft grey t-shirt and climbs into bed, naked from the waist down. “God this is so nice,” he says, snuggling into his pillows with his eyes closed. “I guess you know you’re getting old when you start associating bed with sleep and peace instead of sex.”

“We’re not that old - ” Arthur mumbles defensively (they’re now 31 and 32 respectively), “- but it’s good to know you’ve stopped desiring me. Managing expectations is important in relationships, according to Oprah.” Merlin thumps him with a pillow.

“Prat,” he mutters without heat, eyes-closed, “we shag, like, four times a day. And have jobs. And two kids to keep alive. And friends and family to worry about. And a house and a flat to look after. So I am  _allowed,_ husband, to look forward to floating in soft pillows without being  _entered_ and subjected to damp puddles, occasionally.”

“Hmm,” Arthur sniffs, rolling off the bed and towards the bathroom, “it’s a slippery slope, soon we’ll have separate bedrooms.”

“You are such a drama queen,” Merlin groans from under the duvet while Arthur relieves himself and brushes his teeth, sliding into bed with no clothes on, as usual. He yawns and stretches, leaning over to turn out the bedside light. Merlin shuffles closer to him under the covers and slides a leg between his, an arm around his waist, his face besides Arthur’s on the same pillow. “I love you,” he says sleepily, curling as tightly as possible into Arthur’s side. Arthur wraps both arms around him and pulls him in for a minty, languid kiss.

“You know if I wasn’t so knackered from being dragged around sheds of junk by the lunatic I live with and then subjected to a live sex show and then exploited for my drawing skills in Cranium, I would  _totally_  bugger you senseless right now, don’t you?”

“You romantic,” Merlin jokes, smiling into the warm skin of Arthur’s chest and yawning again. Arthur idly strokes his back, runs a finger along his jaw, kissing Merlin’s head.

“Should I say  _make love to my darling husband_?” Arthur whispers into Merlin’s ear. Merlin wriggles against him and snuggles closer, if that’s possible.

“I know your sex drive is as powerful as ever, Arthur,” he says contentedly, “as is mine for you.” Arthur squeezes him tightly.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into Merlin’s ear, his mouth, tenderly.

“Me too,” Merlin reassures him again, kissing him and listening to his steady, safe heartbeat, until he falls asleep.

 


End file.
